

Class 

Book 









A 


7/7 

COLLECTION OF 

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 


IN PROSE AND VERSE, 


ON SUBJECTS 


MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 


BY REV. MARTIN RUTER. 


CONCORD, N. H. 

TOO* PRINTED BY ISAAC AND WALTER R. HILL 


1811 . 







) 


PREFACE. 

MANY large volumes have been published for the in¬ 
struction and amusement of those who have a taste for read¬ 
ing ; but seme are not able to purchase them, and others have 
not tim# to peruse them. Hence the benefits arising from 
some very valuable books are often confined to a small num¬ 
ber. Besides, many large publications, which contain some 
useful pieces, contain likewise, much that is unnecessary; 
whereas, if the most necessary parts could be selected and 
put in a smaller edition, many would reap the advantage. 
Under this view, the following pages are offered to the pub¬ 
lic. And although the Compiler does not consider these 

pieces more valuable than many others, yet he flatters him- 

\ 

self, that the sentiments they recommend will be approved, 
and that they will be found in some degree useful. 

Exchange 

Brown University Library 

APR 1 9;i94Q 

/ 

/ 


vBT] s' 3 


^tecefta«eous; pieces* 


ON THE EXCELLENCY OF TRUTH. 

T RUTH is a queen, who may be faid to inhabit 
her own native excellence, who reigns inverted 
with her own native fplentlor, and who is enthroned 
on her own grandeur, and on her own felicity. This 
queen condefcending to reign in this world For the 
goodof man, our Saviour came down from above to 
ertablilh her empire upon earth. Human reafon is 
not confulted in the eftablifhment of her empire ; re¬ 
lying on herftlf, on hercelertial origin, on her infal¬ 
lible authority, (he (peaks, and demands belief ; ihe 
publifhes her edicts, and exacts fubmiflion : (he 
holds out to our a {Tent the fublime and incompre- 
henfible glories of the Deity. She proclaims a Man- 
God \ and {hows him extended on a crofs, expiring 
in ignominy and pain, and calls upon human reafon 
to bow down before this tremendous myrtery. 

The chriftian religion, not rerting her caufe upon 
the principles of human realon, reje&s alfo the mere¬ 
tricious aid of human eloquence. It is true, how¬ 
ever, theapoftles, who were her preachers, humbled 
the dignity of the Roman fafces, and laid them at the 
foot of the crofs £ and in thofe very tribunals to which 
theapoftles were fummoned as delinquents, they 
made their judges tremble. In the A6Is of the 
Apoftles we read, as Paul “ reafoned of righteouf- 
ntfs, temperance, and judgment to come, Felix 


4 


trembled.” Tell me, which is the judge and which 
is the prifoner ? “ Felix trembled, and anfwered, go 
thy way for this time ; when I have a convenient 
feafon I will call for thee.” It is not the accufed who 
folicits a refpite ; it is the terrified judge who propofes 
a delay to the criminal who.Hands before him. Thus 
did the apofiles conquer idolatry, and prefent their 
converts as willing captives to the true religion. But 
they accomphihed this end, not by the artifice of 
words, by the arrangement of fedu£live periods and 
the magic of eloquence : they effected their purpofe 
by a fecret perfuafive power, which impreffes, ah, 
mpre than impreffes, which enchants the .under¬ 
fending. This power, this enchantment being de¬ 
rived from Heaven, preferves its efficacy, even as it 
paffes through the lowly ftyle of unadorned compofi- 
tion, like a rapid river which, as it courfes through 
the plain, retains the impetuofity which it acquired 
from the mountain whence it fprung, and from whole 
lofty fources its waters were precipitated. 

Let us then form this conclufion, that our Saviour 
has revealed to us the light of the Gofpel, that day- 
ipring from on high, that celeftial gift, by means 
worthy of the Giver, and at the fame time by means 
the molt confonant with the demands of our nature. 
Surrounded as we are with error, and diflrafted with 
uncertainty, we do not require the aid of a doubting 
academician ; but we (land in piteous need of a 
God to illuminate our researches. The path of rca- 
fon is circuitous, and perplexed with thorns. Pur- 
fuit prefuppofes difiance, and argument indecifione 
As the principle of our condu£l is the obje<5l of this 
enquiry, it is neceffary to have recdurfe to an imme¬ 
diate and immutable belief. The chriftian has no¬ 
thing to investigate, becaufe he finds every thing in ., 
his faith. If the articles of faith which Chrift pro¬ 
pofes to his acceptance, are too immeafurable for the 
narrow capacity of his intellect, they may Bill be 
embraced by the expanfive fubmiffion of his belief. 

Let us dwell on a theme fo interfiling; let us 


5 


\ 


ft ill direct our views to thole divine features which 
proclaim the celeftiai origin of our religion ! When 
ihe (irft defcended from heaven, did (he not come as 
an unwelcome vifitant ? Rejection, hatred, and per. 
fecution, met her in every walk ; neverthelefs fhe 
made no appeal to human juftice, no application to 
the fecular power ; fhe enlifted defenders worthy of 
her caufe, who, in their (acred attachment to her in- 
tereft, prefented themfeives to the ftroke of the exe¬ 
cutioner in fuch numbers, that perfecution grew a- 
larmed, the law blufhed at its own decrees, and 
princes were con (trained to recal their fanguinary 
edicts. It was the deftiny of Truth (if I may be al¬ 
lowed the exprellion) to eredt her throne in oppofi- 
tion to the kings of the earth. She did not call for 
their aff (lance when fhe laid the foundation of her 
own eftabiiftiment ; but when the edifice rofe from 
its foundation, and lifted high its impregnable towers, 
(lie then adopted many of the great for her children ; 
pot that fhe flood in need of their concurrence, but 
in order to caft an additional luftre on her authority, 
and dignify her power. At the fame time our holy 
religion maintained its independence ; (or when 
kings are faid to protect Religion, it is Religion who 
prote£ls them. I appeal, for the ascertainment of 
this fa6t, to ecclefiafticalhiftory, which may be called 
the hiftory of the reign of truth. The world was 
threatened, while truth continued firm and immuta¬ 
ble. Heresy polluted the courfe, but the fpring re¬ 
tained its purity : the weak were overcome, the 
ftrong were fhaken, and feveral fell ignominioully, 
while the white column of truth flood immoveable. 

What rebellious fpirit will dare refift an authority 
thus eftablifhed ? and how can it but excite my af- 
tonifhment, that in a chriflian land fo many are 
found who renounce the gofpel! Am 1 unfortunate, 
ly doomed, wherever I go, to meet with thefe men¬ 
tal libertines, thefe rafh cenfurers of the counfels of 
God ? thefe ignorant blafphemers, who as St. Jude 


a 2 



6 


expreffes himlelf, “fpeakevil of thofe things which 
they know not ?” 

You, who think yourfelves endowed with a fagaci- 
ty to pervade the fecrets of God, approach, and unfold 
to us the myfteries of nature: the whole creation is 
fpreadout before you ! choofe your theme I unravel 
what is at a diftance, or develope that, which is near; 
explain what is beneath your feet, or illultrate the 
■wonderful luminary which glitters over your head. 
What ! does your reafoning faculty ltagger in the 
very threlhold ? poor, prelumptuous, wandering, 
erring traveller; do you expect an unclouded beam 
of truth is to illuminate your path ? Ah, be no more 
deceived ! advert to the dark tempeftuous atmoll- 
phere diffufed over that country through which we are 
all travelling : advert to the weakness and imbecility 
of our reafoning power, and until the omnifeient 
God fhall remove the obfcuring veil that hangs be¬ 
tween heaven and earth, let us not reject the falutary 
aid and foothing intervention of faith. Bossuet. 


ON THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST. 

T WICE had the fun gone down upon the earth, 
and all as yet was quiet at the lepuichre ; death 
Held his feeptre over the fon of God ! {till and lilent 
the hours palled on ; the guards Hood by their poll; 
the rays of the midnight moon gleamed on their 
helmets and on their fpears ; the enemies of Chrift 
exulted in their fuccefs; the hearts of h*s friends 
were funk in defpondency and m forrow : the fpirits 
of glory waited in anxious fufpence, to behold the 
event, and wondered at the depth of the ways of 
God. At length the morning ftar arifing in the eaft 
announced the approach of light ; the third day be¬ 
gan to dawn upon the world, when on a fudden the 
earth trembled to its centre, and thepowers of heaven 
were fhaken ! an angel of God defeended, the guards 

X 



fhrunk back from the terror of his prefence and fell 
pr oft rate on the ground » his countenance was like 
lightning, and his raiment was as white as the fnow. 
He rolled away the ftone from the door of the fepul- 
chre and fat upon it.—But who is this, that cometh 
forth from the tomb, with dyed garments from the 
bed of death ? He that is glorious in his appearance, 
walking in the greatnefs of his ftrength ! It is thy 
Prince, O Zion! Chriftiari, it is your Lord. He 
hath trodden the wine prefs alone : he hath ftained 
his raiment with blood ; but now, as the firft-born 
from the grave, he meets the morning of his refur- 
reHion. Heariles a conqueror, he returns with blef- 
fings from the world of fpirits ; he brings falvation to 
the Tons of men. . Never did the returning fun ulher 
in a day fo glorious! It was the jubilee of the uni- 
verfe ! The morning ftars fang together, and allthe 
Ions of God fhouted aloud for joy. / The Father of 
mercies looked down from his throne in the heavens; 
with complacency he beheld his world reftored ; 
he faw his work that it was very good. Then did 
the defert rejoice, the face of nature was gladdened 
before him, when the bleflings of redemption de- 
feended as the dew from heaven, for the refrefhing of 
the nations. 


ON LIGHT AND COLORS. 

T HINGS would make but a poor appearance to 
the eye, if we faw them only in their proper 
figures and motions ; and what reafon can we af- 
Tign for their exciting in us many ideas of qualities, 
.filch as light and colors, which are different from 
any thing that exifts in the objects themfelves, (for 
fuch are light and colors) were it not to add orna¬ 
ments to the univerfe, and make it more agreeable 
to the imagination ? 

We/are every where entertained with pleafing 



(hows and apparitions. We difcover imaginary 
glories in the heavens, and in the earth, and fee fome 
of this vifionary beauty poured out upon the whole 
creation ; but what a rough unlightly [ketch of na¬ 
ture fhould we be entertained with, did all her col¬ 
ouring difappear, and the feveral tliftin&ions of light 
and fhade vanilh ?* In fhort, our fouls are delight¬ 
fully loll and bewildered in a pleafing delufion ; and 
we walk about like the enchanted hero of a romance, 
who fees beautiful cailles, woods, and meadows ; 
and at the fame time, hears the warbling of birds, 
and the purling of ilrcams ; but upon the finifhing 
ol fome fecret [pell, the fantaftic feene breaks up, and 
the difconfolate knight finds himfelf on a barren 
heath or in a folitary defert. Jddison. 


A DISPLAY OF HEAL ELOQUENCE, TAKEN FROM 
A SERMON. 


A T the fight of an auditory fo new to me, me- 
thinks, my brethren, I ought only to open my 
mouth to folicit your favor in behalf of a poor mif- 
lionary, defiitute of the talents which you require of 
ail thofe who fpeak to you about your fouls’ falvation. 
Nevertherthelefs, I experience to-day, a feeling ve¬ 
ry different. And if lam call down, lufpe6\ me not 
of being deprelled by the wretched unealinefs occa- 
fioned by vanity, as if I were accuftomed to preach 
myfelf. God forbid that a miniffer of heaven fhould 
ever fuppofe he needed an excufe with you 1 for 
W r e ir Cr / e . nia y be, ye are ? of you, Tinners like 

myieli. It is before God, and not you, that I trem¬ 
ble and feel impelled at this moment to ftri'ke my 
breaft. - 

Until now, I have proclaimed the righteoufnc fs of 


v 18 R ,°* unlik 1 ^y* that things are seen in this situation, 
vy the soul, immediately on its separation from the body. 



9 


the Mod High in churches covered with thatch. I 
have preached the rigors of penance to the unfor¬ 
tunate who wanted bread. I have declared to the 
good inhabitants of the country the moft awful truths 
of our religion. Unhappy man 1 what have I done ? 
I have made fad the poor, the belt friends of my 
God ! I have carried terror and grief into the breafts 
of the fimple and faithful, whom I ought to have 
pitied and confoled ! It is here, where I behold the 
great, the rich, the opprdTors of fiiffering humanity, 
or finners daring and hardened. Ah ! it is here on¬ 
ly that the facred word fhould be made to refound 
with all the force of its thunder ; and where I fhould 
place with me in this pulpit, on the one fide, death 
which threatens you, and on the other, my God, 
who is about to judge you. I hold to-day your 
fentence in my hand, contained in this facred volume l 
Tremble then in my prefence, ye proud and difdain- 
ful who hear me 1 Theneceffity offalvation, the cer¬ 
tainty of death, the uncertainty of that hour, fo ter¬ 
rifying to you, the laft judgment, hell, and above all 
Eternity ! Eternity I The4e are the fubje&s upon 
which I am come to difeourfe, and which I lament 
that I had not referved for you alone. Ah 1 what 
need have I of your commendation, which perhaps 
might damn me, without faving you ? God is about 
to roufe you, while his unworthy minifter fpeaks to 
you l for I have had a long experience of his mer¬ 
cies. Penetrated with a deteflation of your paft in¬ 
iquities, and (heckling tears of forrow and repent¬ 
ance, you will then throw yourfeives into the arms 
of mercy, and by this remorfe, you will prove that I 
am fufficiently eloquent. Bridainc.\ 


ON THE QUESTION, <■ WHAT IS LOVE ?” 


Ant delightful tranfport we can feel, 
x , VVnich painters cannot paint,' nor words re 
IN or any art we know of can conceal. [veal 

Can.ft thou defcribe the funbeams to the blind, 

Or make him feel a (haclow with His mind ? 
bo neither can we by defcription (hew, 

■*,j?* s fitft of all felicities below. 

When happy love pours magic o’er the foul, 

And all our thoughts in fweet delirium roll ; 

When contemplation fpreads its rainbow wings, 
And ev ry flutter, fome new rapture brings ; 

Wow weetly then our moments glide away. 

And dreams prolong the tranfports of the day ; 

We live in ecflacy—to all things kind, 

itor love can teach a moral to the mind. 

ilut are there not fome other thoughts that prove 

What is that wonder of the foul, call’d love ? * 

U yes there are, but of a different kind, 

1 he dreadful horrors of a difmal mind : 
borne jealous fury throws the poifoned dart 
And rends in pieces the diffracted heart: ’ 
w lien love’s a tyrant and the foul a Have 
Wo hope remains to thought, but in the grave : 
a j* c ' ar * i c ' en it fees an end of grief, 

And what was once its dread, becomes relief. 




BEAUTIES OF SOLITUDE. 

TN Switzerland, at the village of Richterfwvl a 

an/r" eagues , r rom Zuricll < in a fituation delicious 
and ferene, and1 furrounded by every object the molt 

Dhvfic.nn bta H ifl r T- 1 fubUme ’ . dweIis a celebrated 
E'f. Hls h; 1 ! 11S as tranquil and fublime as the 
lcene of nature vyhich (tirrounds him. His habita. 
tton is the temple of health, fricndlhip, and every 



11 


peaceful virtue. The village is fituated on the bor¬ 
ders of the lake, at a place where two projecting 
points of land form a natural bay of nearly half a 
league. On the oppofite fhores, the lake, which is 
not quite a league in extent, is enclofed from the 
north to the eall by pleafant hills, covered with vine 
leaves, intermixed with fertile meadows, orchards, 
fields, groves, and thickets, with little villages, 
churches, villas, and cottages, fcattered up and down 
the feene. 

A wide and magnificent amphitheatre which no 
artifl has yet ventured to paint, except in detached 
feenes, opens iifelf from the call to the fouth. The 
view towards the higher part of the lake, which on 
this fide is four leagues long, prefents to the eye 
points of land, diftant iflands, the little town of Rap- 
perfwii built on tiie fide of a hill, the bridge of which 
extends itfelf from one fide of the lake to the other. 
Beyond the town, the inexhauftible valley rifes in a 
half circle to the light. Upon the firlt ground-plot is 
apeak of land with hills about half a league cliftant 
from each other ; and behind thefe rife a range of 
mountains covered with trees and verdure, inter- 
fperfecl with villages and detached houfes. In the 
back ground are difeovered the fertile and majeftic 
Alps, twilled one among, the other, and exhibiting 
alternate fihadows of the lighteft and darkeft azure. 
Behind thefe Alps, rocks, covered with perpetual 
inows, rear their heads to the clouds. Towards the 
louth, the opening of the amphitheatre is continued 
by a new chain of mountains. A feene thus enrich¬ 
ed always appears new, romantic and incomparable. 

The mountains extend themfelves from the fouth 
to the weft; the village Richterfwyl is fituated at their 
feet upon the banks of the lake : deep forefts of firs 
cover the fummit, and the middle is filled with fruit- 
ts, interfperfed with rich fallowsand fertile paftures, 
5png which, at certain diftances, a few houfes are 
%ered. The village itfelf is neat, the ftreets are 
Hpd, and the houfes built with (tone, and painted 


12 


X' 


on the outfide. Around the village are walks form¬ 
ed on the banks of the lake, or cut through fhady 
forefts to the hills ; and on every fide feenes, beau¬ 
tiful or fublime, (trike the eye, while they ravifh the 
heart of the admiring traveller. He (tops, and con¬ 
templates with eager joy thefe accumulated beauties ; 
his bofom (wells with excefs of pleafure ; and his 
breath continues for a time fufpended, as if fearful 
of interrupting the fulnefs of his delight. Every 
acre of this charming country is in the higheft degree 
of cultivation and improvement. No part of it is 
differed to lie untilled ; every hand is at work ; and 
men, women and children, from infancy to age, are 
ufefully employed. 

The two houfes of the phyfician are each of them 
Vrounded by a garden ; and, although fituated in 

je middle of the village, are as rural and fequeftered 

J if they had been built in the heart of a countrj r . 
x hrough the gardens, and in view of the phyfician’s 
chamber,flows a limpid dream, on the oppofite fide of 
which is the great road, where, during a fucceffion of 
ages, a crowd of pilgrims have almoft daily paded, in 
their way to the convent of the Hermitage. From thefe 
houfes and gardens, at about the didance of a league, 
you behold, towards the fouth, the majedic Eze- 
berg rear its head ; black forefts conceal its top ; 
while below, on the declivity of the hill, hangs a vil¬ 
lage with a beautiful church, on the (leeple of which 
the fun fufpends his darting rays every evening be¬ 
fore his courfe isifinifhed. In the front is the lake 
of Zurich, whole unruffled waters are fecured from 
the violence of tempeds, and whofe tranfparent fur- 
lace reflefts the beauties of its delightful banks. 

During the filence of the night, if you repair to 
the chamber-window, or indulge in a lonely walk 
through the gardens, to tade the refrefhing feents 
which exhale from the (urrounding flowers, while 
the moon, riling above the mountains, refle&s on the\ 
expanfe of the lake a broad beam of light; you 
hear, during this awful deep of nature, the found of , 




13 


the village clocks echoing from the oppofite fhore ; 
and on the fide where you are, the fhrill proclama¬ 
tions of the watchmen, blended with the barkings of 
the faithful dog at a diftance. At the fame time may 
be heard the little boats softly gliding down the 
ftream, dividing the waters with their oars; you 
perceive them crofs the moon’s tranflucent beam, and 
play among the fparkling waves. On viewing the 
lake of Geneva, in its full extent, the majefty of fo 
fublime a picture ftrikes the fpe&ator dumb ; he 
thinks he has difeovered the chef d’oeuvre of crea¬ 
tion ; but here, near the lake of Zurich, the objects, 
being upon a fmall fcale, are more foft, agreeable, 
and touching. 

Riches and luxury are no where to be feen in the 
habitation of this philanthrope. You are there 
feated upon matted chairs. He writes upon tables 
worked from the wood of the country ; and he and 
his friends eat on earthen plates; Neatnefs and con¬ 
venience reign throughout. Large collections of 
drawings, paintings, and engravings, are his foie ex¬ 
pence. The firft beams of Aurora light the cham¬ 
ber where this philofophic fage lleeps in peaceful re- 
pofe, and opens his eyes to every new day. Rifing 
from his bed, he is faluted by the cooings of the tur¬ 
tle doves, and the morning fong of birds who deep 
within an adjoining chamber. 

The firft hour of the morning and the laft at night, 
are facred to himfelf; but lie devotes all the inter me¬ 
diate hours of the day, to the affiftance of an afflicted 
multitude, who daily attend him for advice and af- 
fiftance. The benevolent exercife of his profeffioi? 
engrolfes every moment of his life, but it aifo confti- 
tutes his happinefs and joy. 

Such is the defeription of this folitary, plcafing 
habitation, where DoCtor Holtze, the ableftphyfician 
of the prefent age, refides ; a phyfician and a philo- 
fopher, vrhofe pervading genius, profound judgment, 
and great experience, have placed him high in the 
eftiroation of mankind. It is in this manner he paffes 


14 


the hours of his life ; all uniform and all happy : he 
referves, indeed, only two hours of each day to him- 
felf, and devotes the reft to the relief of the unfor¬ 
tunate, who daily vifit him in this celeftial region of 
felicity. His mind, a£live and full of vigor, never 
feeks repofe ; but there is a divine quietude dwell¬ 
ing in his heart. # Alas 1 there are no fuch charac¬ 
ters to be found in a court. Individuals, however, 
of every defcription, have it in their power to tafte 
an equal degree of happinefs, although they may not 
have the opportunity of refiding amidft fcenes fo de¬ 
lightful as thofe above delcribed. ZiTntnctTncmn, 


ODE ON SOLITUDE. 


H APPY the man whofe wifh and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air, 

In his own ground. 


Whofe herds with milk, whofe fields with bread. 
Whole flocks fupply him with attire, 

Whole trees in fummer yield him fhade, 

In winter, fire. 

Bleft, who can in devotion find, 

Hours, days, and years Aide foft away, 

In health of body, peace of mind, 

Quiet by day. 

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown, 

Thus unlamented let me die. 

Steal from the world, and not a ftone, 

Tell where I lie. Pope, 








ON THE LAST DAY.— taken from a sermon. 

T O add greater terror to this moft terrible period, 
the fcriptures reprefent it as happening at mid¬ 
night.—At midnight (fays Jefus) there was a cry 
made, Behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out to 
meet him. And perhaps the apoftle, in his firft epif- 
tie to the Theffalonians, intimates the fame, where he 
fays, Of the times and feafons ye have no need that 
I write unto you, for ye yourfelves know perfectly, 
that the day of the Lord io cometh as a thief in the 
night.—’Tis true this cannot be the cafe vvith ref- 
pe£t to the whole earth, it being always day in feme 
part or other of it; but it maybe the cafe with ref- 
pc£t to thofe parts which are moft inhabited, and have 
been moft favored with the light of the gofpel. 
Whatever happens to the deferts of America in the 
weft, the unenlightened Indies in the eaft, and the im¬ 
mense Pacific Ocean lying between them, though it 
fhould be broad day there ; it may be night at our 
Lord’s fecond coming, with refpeft to the moft pop¬ 
ulous and confiderable parts of the earth ; I mean 
Europe, Alia, Africa, and the eaftern parts of Ame¬ 
rica- The inhabitants of thofe parts may be envel¬ 
oped with the difmal (hades of darknefs, when this 
awful day fuddenly blazes forth. So it feems our 
poet, whole fentiments upon this fubjedl ar£ always 
as juft as they are ftriking, fuppofed when he Lid, 

“ At midnight, when mankind are wrapt in sleep, 

And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams ; 

To give more dread toman’s most dreadful hoar, 

At midnight, ’tis presum’d, this pomp will burst 
From tenfold darkness, sudden as the spark 
From smitten steel, from nitrous grain the blaze ; 

Man starting from his couch shall sleep no more, 

The day is broke which never more shall close.” 

Then, as was reprefented to St. John, fhall there 
be a great earthquake, and the fun fhall become 
black as fackcloth of hair, and the moon fhall become 
as blood, and the ftars of heaven fhall fall unto the 


16 


earth, even as a fig-tree cafteth her untimely figs 
when fhc is fhaken of a mighty wind. The great 
day of his wrath fhall come, and who (hall be able 
to ftand. Who, indeed, when 

" Above, around,beneath, amazement all ! 

Terror and glory join’d in their extremes, 

Our God in grandeur, and the world on fire !” 

And now let us turn afide, and fee this great fight : 
iet us ftand ftill and confider this folemn feene here 
opening to our view 1 By the help of that faith which 
is the evidence of things not feen, let us contemplate 
the awful grandeur and terrible majefty of that day if 
our weak fenfes can endure the dreadful glory of its 
tight) or our feeble faculties fuflain the effulgence of 
its ©verpowering brightnefs and aftonifhing terrors. 
Ah ! how mutt it furprize and alarm the fecure Tin¬ 
ner, and how mufl it flrike all men with awe and 
amazement, in the dead of night, to be fuddenly a- 
waked out of the repofe of their lafl fleep, by the 
confuted none and deafening roar of trumpets found¬ 
ing thunders grumbling, ftars rufhing, elements 
melting, waves dafhing, the fea tolling, and the earth 
quaking ! Ah ! how must the ftouteft heart fail and 
link with horrible dread, to hear the fudden crufh of 
worlds, and behold the wreck of univerfal nature » 
io fee 


u Each mountain height 
Outburn Vesuvius; rocks eternal pour 
Their melted mass, as rivers once they pour’d ; 
Stars rush, and final ruin fiercely drive 
Her plowshare o’er creation.” 


How will the ilubborn infidel, who treated thefe 
diicoveries as the inventions of fancy, and the har¬ 
dened firmer who defpifed and qeglefted them • ah ’ 
how wil! they ftart from the flumbers of midnight* 
the bed of debauching pleafures, or the couch of 
not and revelling excefs, in wild affright and difor. 
der, when they fhall be obliged to behold with their 


eyes, (and that by a difmal light!) and feel, to their 
forrow, what thev would not once believe, or wil¬ 
fully forgot ! Now they can disbelieve and forget no 
longer. The great and terrible day of the Lord is 
arrived. 

“ The fatal period, the great hour is come, 

And nature shrinks at her approaching doom ; 

Loud peals oi thunder give the sign, and all 
His terrors, in array, surround the ball : 

Sharp lightnings with the meteor’s blaze conspire, 

And darting downward, set the world on fire.” 

See, ye blind, the victorious blaze of irrefifti- 
ble and all-conquering fire 1 It rends the rocks, con- 
fumes the forefts, melts down the mountains, lays 
cities, yea, whole kingdoms in afhes, and envelopes 
the univerfe ! Behold it rifes, fvvells, fpreads 
and overwhelms all with an univerfal deluge l While, 
in the mean time, 

<$ Black rising clouds the thickened ether choke, 

And spiry flames shoot through the rolling smoke. 
With keen vibrations cut the sullen night, 

And streak the darken’d sky with dreadful light.” 

Hear, ye deaf, the rebellowing growl of hoarfe 
muttering thunder, the mighty voice cf the great 
archangel, and the all-alarming trump of God i 
.Fed, ye flout-hearted, the earth quaking and open¬ 
ing, the. mountains trembling anc! removing, the 
hills reeling and finking, the vallies heaving and rif- 
ing 1 Feel, or be forever hardened, the fhock of 
confliding elements, and the clafh of ruined worlds 1 

Awake i awake 1 ye sleepy Tinners l Shake off 
your fatal {lumbers i Arife from the bed of fioth 
and the lap of enchanting pleafures ! Hafte, hafte for 
fheiter, from this day of wrath and unrelenting fury l 
If you delay till this day overtake you, then, alas ! 
whither can you flee ? The earth quakes and trem¬ 
bles under your feet; the florin of divine vengeance 
b 2 


18 


=53=5 

lovvers and burfls upon your guilty heads, and ruin 
and perdition furround you on every hand 1 The 
frowning Judge, whofe indignation you have pro* 
voked, and whofe almighty wrath your fins have 
kindled, fixes his piercing eye upon you as the 
mark, at which he will fhoot his fiery arrows, and 
direct the thunder-bolts of his everlafling indigna¬ 
tion. And now it is in vain to cry to the rocks and 
mountains to fall upon you and hide you : the rocks 
and mountains cleave afunder, yea, they flee away, 
and leave you deflitute and forfaken, expofed to all 
the artillery of omnipotent fury, in the midft of dark 
and fiery torments. 

Oh I that men were wife, that they underflood 
this, that they would confider their latter end. Oh ! 
that they would watch and pray always, that they 
might efcape thofe things which are coming upon 
the earth, and Hand before the Son of Man with joy 
and not with grief. Benson . 


ODE ON ETERNITY. 

W HAT is Eternity ? can aught 

Point its duration to the thought ? 
Tell every beam the fun emits, 

When in fublimefl noon he fits ; 

Tell every light-wing’d thought that flrays 
Within its ample round of rays; 

Tell all the leaves and all the buds, 

That crown the garden and the woods 5 
Tell all the fpires of grafs, the meads 
Produce, when fpring proportion leads 
The new-born year ; tell all the drops 
The night, upon their bended tops, 

Sheds in foil filence to difplay 
Their beauties to the riling day : 

Tell all the fands the ocean laves, 

Tell all its .changes, all its waves. 

Or tell, with more laborious pains. 

The drops its mighty mafs contains * 




19 


Be this aftonifhing account 
Augmented to the full amount 
Of all the drops the clouds have filed, 
Where’er their watery fleeces fpread, 

Through all time’s long continued tour, 

From Adam to the prefent hour.-~ 

Still fhort the fum, nor could it vie 
With the more numerous years that lie 
Embofom’d in Eternity, 

Were there a belt that could contain, 

In its vaft orb, the earth and main ; 

With figures were it clufter’d o’er, 

Without one cypher in the fcore ; 

And could your lab’ring thought aflign 
The total of each crowded line ; 

How fcant th’ amount ? th* attempt how vain, 
To reach duration’s endlefs chain ? 

For when as many years have run, 
Unbounded age is but begun 1 
Then think, O man ! with awe divine, 

For this Eternity is thine. 


THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY PROVED, FROM 
THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. 

T HE converflon of St. Paul, with all its attend¬ 
ant circumflances, furnifhes one of the rnofl 
fatisfadtory proofs that have ever been given, of the 
divine authority of our. holy religion. That this 
eminent perfon, from being a zealous perfecutor of 
the difciples of Chrift, became, at once, a difciple 
himfelf, is a fadt which cannot be controverted, with¬ 
out overturning the credit of all hiftory. He muft, 
therefore, have been converted in the miraculous 
manner alledged by himfelf, and of courfe the chrif- 
tian religion muft be a divine revelation; or he 
muft have been an impoftor, an enthufiaft, or a dupe 
to the fraud of others. There is not another alter- 
native poffible, 



I/he was an nnpoftor, who declared that for truth 
which lie knew to lie falfe, lie mult have been induc¬ 
ed to act that part by fome motive. But the only 
conceivable motives for religious impofture are, the 
Popes of advancing one’s temporal intereft, credit 
or power ; or the profpett of gratifying fome paffion 

or appetite, under the authority of the new religion. 

I hat none of th.fe could be St. Paul’s motives for 
piofeflTing the faith of Chrift, is plain from the ftate 
of Judailm and Chriltiamty at the period of his for- 
laking the former and embracing the latter faith. 
I hole whom he left, were dilpofers of wealth dig¬ 
nity and power in Judea ; thole, to whom he went 
were indigent men, opprelfcd, and kept from all 
means of improving their fortunes. The certain 
c , on .^9 u ? nce > therefore, of his taking the part of 

r Va n } he lofs V not 0I } ! -V of all that he pof- 
-ened, but of all hopes-of acquiring more. Where 
as, by continuing to perfecute the chriftians, he had 
hopes, rifing almoft to certainty, of making his for¬ 
tune by the favor of thole who were at the head of 
.he Jewifh ftate, to whom nothing could fo much 
recommend him, as the zeal he had Ihown in that 
perfccution. As to creditor reputation, could the 
fcholar of Gamaliel hope to gain either, by becom 
ing a teacher m a college of fiiliermen ? Could'he 
flatter himfelf, that the doflrines which he taught 
would either in or out of Judea, do him honor 
when he knew that “ they were to the Jews a Hum! 
bhng block, and to the Greeks foolifhnefs ?’’ Was 
it, then love of power, that induced him to make this 
gieat change - Power ! over whom ? over a flock of 
fheep whom he himfelf had endeavored to deftroy 
and whole very Ihepherd had lately been murdered ! 

Perhaps it was with the view of gratifying K 
centious paffion, under the authority of the new rt 
lgion, that he commenced a teacher of that religion r 
Phis cannot be ailedged : for his writings breathe 
nothing but the flrfokit morality; obedience to 
magiftrates, order and government ; with the utmoft 
abhorrence of all licentioufnefs, idlenefs, or loofe be- 


haviour, under the cloak of religion. We nowhere 
read in his works, that faints are above moral ordi¬ 
nances ; that dominion is founded in grace; that 
there is no difference in moral a£lions ; that any im- 
pulfes of the mind are to direct us againft the light 
of revealed religion and the laws of nature ; or any 
of thofe wicked tenets, by which the peace of focie- 
ty has been difturbed. He makes no diftin£lions, 
like the impoftor of Arabia, in favor of himfelf; 
nor does any part of his life, either before or after his 
*converfion to chriftianity, bear any mark of a liber¬ 
tine difpofition. As among the Jews, fo among the 
Chriftians, his converfation and manners were 
blamelefs. 

As St.Paul was not an impoftor, foit is plain he was 
not an enthufiaft. Heat of temper, melancholy, ig¬ 
norance, credulity and vanity, are the ingredients, of 
which enthufiafm is compofed : but from all thefe 
except the firft, the apoltle appears to have been 
wholly free. That he had great fervor of zeal, both 
when a Jew, and when a Chriftian, in maintaining 
what he thought to be right, cannot be denied : but 
he was at all times fo much mailer of his temper, 
as, in matters of indifference, to “ become all things 
to all men with the mofl pliant condefcenfion, 
bending his notions and manners to theirs, as far as 
his duty to God would permit ; a conduct compat- 
ble neither with the ftiffnefs of a bigot, nor with the 
violent impulfes of fanatical delufion. That he was 
not melancholy, is plain from hiscondudl in embrac¬ 
ing every method, which prudence could fuggeft, to 
efcape danger and fhun perfecution, when he could 
do it without betraying the duty of his office, or the 
honor of his God. A melancholy enthufiaft courts 
perfection ; and when he cannot obtain it, affiiiSls 
himfelf with abfurd penances :. but the holinels of 
St. Paul confided in the fimplicity of a pious life, 
and in the unwearied performance of his apoftolic 
duties. 

That he was ignorant, no man will alledge, who is 
not get ly ignorant himfelf; for he appears to have 


22 


been matter, not only of the Jewifh learning, but al¬ 
to of the Greek phiiofophy, and to have been con- 
verfant even with the Greek poets. That he was 
not credulous, is plain, from his having refitted the 
evidence of all the miracles'performed on earth by 
Chnft, as well as thofe that were afterwards worked 
by the apoftles; to the fame of which, as he lived in 
Jerufalem, he could not have been a ftranger. And 
that he was as free from vanity as any tnan that ever 
lived, may be gathered from all that we fee in his 
writings, or know of in his life. He reprefents him-' 
felf as the Jeatt of all the apottles, and not worthy 
to be called an apoftta He fays he was the chief of 
linners ; and prefers, in the ttrongeft terms, univer¬ 
sal benevolence to faith, prophecy, miracles, and all 
the gifts and graces with which he could be endowed. 
Is this the language of vanity or enthufiafm ? 

. Having thus fliown that St. Paul was neither an 
impoftor nor an enthufiaft, it remains only to be en¬ 
quired, whether he was deceived by the fraud of 
others : but this equiry need not be long ; for who 
was to deceive him ? A few illiterate filhermen of 
Gallilee ? It was morally impofiible for fuch men to 
conceive the thought of turning the moft enlighten¬ 
ed of their opponents, and the crueleft of their per¬ 
secutors, into an apottle ; and to do this by a fraud 
in the very inttant of his fury againtt them and their 
Lord. But even had they conceived fuch a thought 
it was phyfically impofiible for them to execute it in 
the manner in which we find his converfion was ef¬ 
fected. Could they produce a light in the air, which 
at mio-aay was brighter than the fun ? Could they 
make Saul hear words from that light, which were 
not heard by the rett of the company ? Could they 
make him blind for three days after that vilion, and 
then make feales fall from his eyes, and rettore him 
to fight by a word ? Or, could they make him, and 
thole who travelled with him, believe that all thefe 
things had happened, if they had not happened ■> 
Mott unqueftionably, no fraud could have produced 
ail this, 



23 


Since, then, St. Paul was not an impoftor, an en- 
thufiaft, or a perfon deceived by the fraud of others, 
it follows, that his converfion was miraculous, and 
that the chriftian religion is a divine revelation. 

Lyttleton . 


LIFE, DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

T HOU little wondrous miniature of man, 
Form’d by unerring wifdom’s perfect plan ; 
Thou little ftranger, from eternal night, 

Emerging into life’s immortal light: 

Thou heir of worlds unknown, thou candidate, 

| For an immortal, everlafting ftate; 

Where this young embryo fhali its powers expand, 
Enlarging, rip’ning ftill, and never Hand. 

This glimmering fpark of being, juft now ftruck, 
From nothing, by the ail-creating Rock, 

* To immortality fhali flame and burn, 

When funs and ftars to native darknefs turn. 

Thou fhalt the ruins of the world furvive, 

And through the rounds of endlefs ages live. 

Now thou art born into an anxious ftate 
Of dubious trial, for thy future fate ; 

Now thou art lifted in the war of life, 

The prize immenfe, but O fevere the ftrife ! 

Another birth awaits thee, when the hour 
Arrives, that lands thee on th’ eternal fhore ; 

And O ’tis near ! with winged hafte ’twill come. 

Thy cradle rocks toward the neighb’ring tomb. 

Then fhali immortals fay, a fon is born, 

While thee, as dead, miftaken mortals mourn. 

From glory then, to glory (halt thou rife, 

Or fink from deep, to deeper miferies ; 

X A .vj end perfection’s everlaftingfcale, 

Or ftill defeend from gulf to gulf in hell. 

Thou embryo angel, or thou infant fiend, 

A, V-ing now begun, but ne’er to end ; 








24 


What boding fears a father’s heart torment, 
Trembling and anxious for the grand event : 
Left thy young foul, fo late by heaven bellow'd, 
Forget her Father, and forget her God ; 

Left, whilft imprifondin thishoufeof clav, 

To tyrant lufts fine fall a helplefs prey ; 

And left, defcendingltillfrom bad to worfe, 

Her immortality fhould prove her curfe. 

Maker of fouls ! avert fo dire a doom, 

Or fnatch her back to native nothing’s gloom. 


AN ERUPTION OF MOUNT VESUVIUS. 

I N the year 1717, in the middle of April, with 
much difficulty I reached the top of Vefuvius, in 
which I faw a vaft aperture full of fmoke, that hin¬ 
dered me from viewing its depth and figure. 1 heard 
within that horrid gulf extraordinary founds, which 
feemecl to proceed from the bowels of the mountain ; 
and at intervals, a noife like that of thunder of can¬ 
non, with a clattering like the falling of tiles from the 
tops of houfes into the ftreets. Sometimes as 
the wind changed, the fmoke grew thinner, difeov- 
ermg a very ruddy flame, and the circumference of 
the crater ftreaked with red and feveral fhades of 
yellow. After an hour’s ftay, the fmoke being moved 
by the wind, we had fhort and partial profpeds of the 
great hollow ; in the flat bottom of which, I could 
diicern two furnaces almoft contiguous : that on the 
left teeming about three yards over, glowing with 
ruddy flame, and throwing up red hot Hones, with a 
hiceous noife, which, as they fell back, caufed the 
clattering already mentioned. Mav 8th in the mor- 
mng, I afeended the top of Vefuvius a fecond time, 
and found a different face of things. The fmoke ai- 
cending upright, afforded a full profpeft of the era. 
ter, which, as far as I could judge, was about a mile 
in circumference, and a hundred yards deep. Sk’ce 
my iait vnit, a comical mount had been formed j P 


I 





the middle of the bottom. This was made by the 
Hones thrown up and fallen back again into the cra¬ 
ter. In this new hill remained the two furnaces al¬ 
ready defcribed. The one was feen to throw up, 
every three or four minutes, with a dreadful found, 
a vaft number of red hot Hones, at leaft three hun¬ 
dred feet higher than my head: but as there was 
no wind, they fell perpendicularly back to the place 
from whence they had been difeharged. The other 
was filled with red hot liquid matter, like that in the 
furnace of a glals-houfe ; raging and working like 
the waves of thefea, with a fhort abrupt noife. This 
matter fometimes boiled over, and ran down the 
fide of the conical hill, appearing, at firfl, red hot, 
but changing color as it hardened and cooled. Had 
the wind fet towards us, we fhould have been in no 
jfmalldanger of being ftifled by the fulphurous frnoke, 
or killed by the mafies of melted minerals that were 
(hot from the bottom. But as the wind was favora¬ 
ble, I had an opportunity of furveying this amazing 
feene for more than an hour and a half together. On 
the 5th of June, after a horrid noife, the mountain 
was feen at Naples to work over ; and about three 
days after, its thunders were fo renewed, that not 
only the windows in the city were fhaken, but alio 
the houfes. From that time it continued to overflow, 
and fometimes at night exhibited columns of fire 
fhooting upward from its fummit. On the tenth, 
when all was thought to be over, the mountain a- 
gain renewed its terrors, roaring and raging molt vi¬ 
olently. One cannot form a more juft idea of the 
noife, in the molt violent fits of it, than by imagining 
a mixed found, made up of the raging of tempefts, 
the murmur of a troubled fea, and the roaring of 
thunder and artillery, all confufed together. Though 
we heard this at the diftance of twelve miles, yet it 
was very terrible. We refolved to approach nearer 
to the mountain ; and accordingly three or four of 
us entered a boat and were fet afhore at a little 
town, fituated at the foot of the mountain. Frorff 
c 







26 


thence we went about four or five miles before we 
came to the torrent of fire that was defcending from 
the fide of the volcano : and here the roaring grew 
exceeding Joud and terrible. I obferved a mixture 
of colors in the cloud above the crater, fucli as 
green, yellow, red and blue. There was likewife a 
ruddy difmal light in the air, over that tra£l where 
the burning river flowed. Thefe circumftances, fet 
off and augmented by the horrors of the night, form¬ 
ed a fcene the moft uncommon and aftonifhing I 
ever faw ; which flill increafed as we approached 
the burning river. A vaft torrent of liquid fire rolled 
from the top, down the fide of the mountain, and 
with irrefiflible fury bore down and confumed vines, 
olives and houfes ; -and divided into different chan¬ 
nels, according to the inequalities of the mountain. 
The largefl ftream feemed, at lead, half a mile broad, 
and five miles long. I walked before my compan¬ 
ions, fo far up the mountain, along the fide of the 
river of fire, that I was obliged to retire in great 
hafte, the lulphurousfleam havingfurprifed me, and 
almofl taken away my breath. During our return, 
which was about three o’clock in the morning, the 
roaring of the mountain was hearth all the way, 
while we obferved it throwing up huge fpcuts of fire 
and burning flones, which falling, refembled the flars 
in a rocket. Sometimes I obferved two or three 
diflinft columns of flame, and fometimes one only 
that was large enough to fill the whole crater. Thefe 
burning columns and fiery flones feemed to be fhot 
a thoufand feet perpendicular above the fummit ©f 
the volcano. In this manner the mountain continu¬ 
ed raging for fix or eight days after. On the eigh¬ 
teenth of the fame month the whole appearance end¬ 
ed, and Vefuvius remained perfectly quiet, without 
any vifible fmoke or flame. 

Bishop Berkley . 


[The following dreadful narrative is given by a trav¬ 
eller, who refided a fliort time in the city of Mad¬ 
rid. During his ft ay, he fell into forne eonverfa- 
tion with two of the Spanilli clergy, in which he 
remonftrated againft the court of inquifttion ; and 
for a crime, in their view fo enormous, was call 
into a moft/lifmal dungeon. The circumftances 
of his imprifonment are as follow :—] 

I HAD not flept long, when I was awakened by a 
fudden loud noife. The firft objeXs which offer¬ 
ed to my view, were three ftout fellows, already in 
my room : one of them ordered me in a peremptory 
manner, to follow him inftantly ; in vain did I offer 
to enquire into the motive of his noXurnai faluta- 
tion : he vociferated again, In the name of the Saint 
Office, I bid you follow me. I was not tempted to 
make any further enquiry ; I hurried on my clothes, 
obeyed, and was conduced to one of the dungeons 
of the inquifttion. 

Think of a damp hole, five feet fquare, of the fame 
height, and fix fathoms under ground, where it is 
impoflible to diftinguifh night from day, where all 
the nourishment you can procure, is reduced to a 
fcanty allowance of black mufty bread, a few half 
boiled beans, fome ftinking water, and no other bed 
but a few handfuls of rotten ftravv ; where, for years 
together, you are denied the comfort of exchanging 
a word with a human being, not having even the 
privilege of giving too loud a vent to the forrows to 
which you are a prey, from the apprehenfion of a fe- 
vere whipping. Such was my new habitation. 
Judge of the reflexions which occurred to my mind ; 
efpecially when my furprife fubfided, judge whether 
J remembered my interview with the two friars. 

Six weeks of painful confinement elapfed before 
my gaoler exchanged a word with me. One day, as 
he delivered me my naufeous pittance, he advifed 
me to requeft an audience of the inquifitors : I fol¬ 
lowed his advice, and the next day was appointed 


28 


for my appearance before them. When I was pre¬ 
sented, one of myjudges asked me what I wifhed 
for. I fupplicated them to let me at liberty, or at 
Ieaft begged them to tell me what I was confined 
for. 1 received no anfwer, but was dire&ly re¬ 
manded back to my loathfome dungeon. Four days 
after, I appeared again. On being asked the fame 
queltion, I returned the fame anfwer, and was foon 
lent back to my hole. The keys had hardly turned 
upon me, when I was feized with fo fevere a fit of 
rage and defpair, that I daflied my head againll an 
iron anchor which was made fall to the wall. The 
blood which followedthe blow, increased my fury ; 
once more, thought I, and all my forrows are at an 
end : but obferving, in that critical inflant, that the 
iron was broken, by feeling a fra&ure, a gleam of 
hope fucceeded defpair, and I reflored a calm to my 
difordered fenfes. 1 refle£led that this difcovery 
might prove the mean* of my efcape, and fan&ion 
the prelervation of my exiftence. 

With incredible labor I loofened the broken fluke 
—found it long and flrong enough for my defign, and 
fell to work without lois of time. After two day’s 
conflant toil, I fucceeded in loofening one of the 
(tones ; I foon moved another, and at the end of fix 
days had effe£led a breach fufficient to enlarge me. 

I had no fooner left my former abode, than I found 
myfelf in a fpacious vault, as dark as the prifon I 
had left. # Here I met with nothing but ropes and 
whips, pincers, axes, blocks, and a variety of oth¬ 
er patibulary mflruments. I was fortunate enough 
^ a chimney ; nothing, thought I, can now 
bairle my expectation ; I climb with new courage 
and after many efforts, I attain the middle, where, to 
my great dilappointment, I meet with a ftrong iron 
grate. Muttering all the refolution I was mailer of 
I returned in quell of my ufeful anchor, and with its 
help perforated the wall under the grate : this new 
hole let me into a granary, but perceiving it already 
broad day light, I did not think it prudent to venture 
further, fo returned below until the next night, hav- 


29 


ing nothing to apprehend from an unfeafonaole vifit 
from my gaoler. I thought that prudence warranted 
this meafure, and therefore, picking up the flones 
which had fallen from the chimney, I carefully flop¬ 
ped the hole of my dungeon. I had hardly per¬ 
formed it, when I heard a noife towards the door, 
and had fcarcely time to effect a hafly retreat behind 
fome boards, when the door flew open, and the firfl 
ohje6ls I faw through the cracks of my recefs were 
two fellows of the fevereft afpedl, having each a can¬ 
dle in one hand and a lliletto in the other, befides a 
pair of piltois in their girdles. Three fat fathers 
of the order of St. Dominic followed them ; a fec- 
retary of the Saint Office completed the groupe. 
They fat themfelves round a table covered with a 
black cloth, on which was placed a cup to contain 
holy water, a bible and a crucifix eroded by a naked 
fword. This awful apparatus filled me with terror; 
and I grew anxious for my fafety. 

The friars having laughed and punned a few min¬ 
utes, arofe, and recited with a thundering voice, the 
pfalm Exurgat Dens. 

They had not got through with the pfalm, when I 
heard fome faint groans at a diflance, but from 
whence they proceeded I could not guefs. The 
door foon opened again ; and a girl of about feven- 
teen years of age, who, notwithflanding her grief and 
defpondency, appeared beautiful, was introduced, 
furrounded by four defperadoes, whofe hideous af- 
peid formed a complete contrail with her interfiling 
perfon. She was covered with a long loofe blood- 
colored gown, tied round her with black ribbons ; 
her head and face w 7 ere covered with a black veil 5 
through which I could obferve thelanguifhing fpark- 
ling of her expreffive eyes, and the pale hue of her 
once rofy lips. 

This unfortunate young woman, having daggered 
with downcaft eyes, towards the table, fell at the 
feet of her judges, bedewing them with tears, fo 
overcome that file could not articulate a fyllable ; but 

r 9 


( 


so 


when her fighs and fobbing had fubfided a little, fhe 
addreffed them with a tone of voice capable of mov¬ 
ing them oft flinty heart, in the following manner : 
Oh l fathers, what more can I undergo ? Surely I 
have fuffered enough, during two years confinement 
in this hideous dungeon, where I have been a con¬ 
stant prey to the keeneft forrow, to the blackeft mel¬ 
ancholy l 

Arife, beautiful child, interrupted one of the in- 
quilitors. You are brought before us this time to 
confefs honeftly all the crimes with which you ftand 
charged before this awful tribunal. It now lies in 
your own breaft; prove yourfelf deferving (by a fin- 
cere avowal) of the lenity, clemency and charity of 
the Saint Office. 

Alas 1 what avowal, what confeffion can I make ? 
refumed the poor girl. I mentioned all I had to fay, 
the fir ft time I was brought before you ; I now re¬ 
peat it again. I do not believe that I have ever com¬ 
mitted, wilfully, any enormous crime againft that 
God whom I ferve and adore : nor do 1 remember 
ever offending a father, whom I love and honor, nei¬ 
ther did I give any caufe of forrow to a tender ref- 
peClable mother, whole memory I will always ven¬ 
erate ; and as to my neighbors, my confidence clears 
me of any guilt toward them. Since you ask for 
truth, you have now heard it. 

No more of that if you pleafe, refumed the friar; 
we are tired every day with fuch nonfenfe ; to the 
fa£I, madam, own at once, that your father, who has 
avoided our purfuits by a timely flight, is one ol thcfe 
wretches, who, defpifing the many wonderful and 
holy myfteries and articles of faith, in which we are 
commanded to believe, took on themfelves to re¬ 
duce their belief to almoft nothing. Oh ! unworthy 
and deteftable race l that you wert at the bottom of 
the endlefs abyfs, with all the forcerers that exift on 
the earth i but no, fubfift ye, continue to.be the con- 
ftant objeft of the extenfive charity, the zeal, the 
watchings of the Lord’s minifters, and of the holy 
Inquifition, whofe foie aim is God's glory, and the fal- 


31 


vation of your wicked fouls l ah 1 dear daughter, 
you are {till ignorant how far that zeal extends, which 
keeps us, clay and night, in queft of the lofl fheep. 

Don’t let us infill any longer on that CGnfeffion we 
expedl from you. Declare that your father had no 
fooner inculcated in your mind, his abominable prin¬ 
ciples, than you conceived a contempt for the catholic 
religion, and a hatred for the Roman inquifition : 
that by means of that contempt and hatred, the devil 
took poffeffion of you. ^ Own that you have made 
ufe of witchcraft. Don’t pretend to deny thofe hor¬ 
rid crimes which you have committed ; tell us the 
names of your accomplices ; let us know your fa¬ 
ther’s retreat, and that of his adherents, that we may 
open their eyes, and recal them from the way of per¬ 
dition.—Ah 1 as to my father 1 exclaimed the poor 
girl, did I know where he is, I fhould in that refpedl 
obey the voice of nature, which whifpers me to fpare 
my own blood. As to his adherents, I know but 
few of them who differ in opinion from you ; who 
perform good from the love of it; who as much as is 
in their power, mark each of their days by fome 
laudable deed; whom I would not betray, did I know 
their retreat. On the contrary, if the purefl faith, 
the ftri£teft virtue which I have profeffed all my 
life, is rewarded among you by the torments 1 have 
endured fince I fell into your hands, and that I mull 
(till fuffer ; I befeech heaven to preferve them from 
fuch a reward. 

My child, faid the inquifitor, you have owned 
yourfelf an heretic, while off your guard let us 
know the points, in which you err ; do not force us 
to have recourfe to rigor; confefs, at once, otherwiie 
you fhall be put to the rack. 

I Great God 1 exclaimed the poor wretch, the rack - 
alas ! Shall I be able to bear it ! Ah ! fathers, who 
authorifes you to torment your fellow creatures, 
when poffefling every moral virtue, and guilty only 
of a difference in opinion ? Who authorizes us . re¬ 
torted the inquifitor; the honor of religion, the glo¬ 
ry of a terrible God! Stop, flop, exclaimed the girl; 


32 


that God is not my God : my God is not terrible, 
yet my God is the Lord of hofts. My God neither 
commands nor approves perfecution ; he hates dif- 
cord and violence. My God is good ; he pities our 
vveakneiles, and when he corrects, punifhes like a 
father. If he has in {tore fome awful judgment, it 
muu fall on the head of the obftinate {inner ; and 
above all, on thofe vain and cruel men, who have cre¬ 
ated a God fimilar to themielves. 

Juft heavens, what impiety ! exclaimed the in- 
quintor;^ abominable creature, the devil alone could 
have mfpired thee with luch bafphemies againft the 
Divinity. Executioners to your duty ; let the keen- 
eft torments force from her a confeflion of her con¬ 
nexion with Satan. 


I he inquifitor had hardly ended thefe words, when 
two ot the four fpe&res who had conducted the un¬ 
fortunate creature, ftripped her of the rags that cov- 
ered her, and the two others prepared the reft of the 
necelfaries for executing the friar’s orders. 

The profoundftlence which reigned in that mourn¬ 
ful place during the dreadful preparations, the glim¬ 
mering light in the dungeon, the fatal inftruments, 
the grief and difeouragement of the vi£iim, the 
glances of the enraged judges, the ferocious looks of 
the executioners, fufpended the operation of my 
fenfes, and overwhelmed me with fear and anguifh. 

rhe poor girl, having no garment left but a cloth 
round her‘waift, was feized by the executioners 
who tied her hands behind her back, and by means 
ot a rope faftened round her wrifts, and palled through 
a block, made faft to the ceiling, raifed her fuddenly 
as high as they could ; and having held her fufpend- 
ed for a .while they let go the rope, and fhe came 
t own with full force within a foot from the floor 
this terrible fhock diflocated all her joints ; the rone 
which was tied round her arms, entered the flelh 
and the torture fhe experienced drew from her a 
piercing ihriek. In a little while the operation was 
repeated ; her groans and cries increafed ; but they 
could not force her to confefs herfelf a witch, beeaufe 


fhe was not; neither could they learn her fathers re¬ 
treat, for fhe did not know it. 

They had tortured her about an hour, when her 
ftrength forfaking her, the at once appeared lifelefs ; 
one of the inquifitors applied his hand to her bruifed 
breaft, and faid with a determined tone, it isneedjefs 
to call a doctor, a bottle of hartfhorn applied to her 
noftrils will be fufficient to reftore her. 

The eHence had the defired effect; but fhe re¬ 
mained extended, unable to move a limb. One of 
the inquifitors reproached her for blafpheming the 
name of God ; he added afterwards, that ihe ought 
not todefpair of his infinite mercy, extolled the St. 
Office, which did not wifh for the death of tinners, 
but the falvation of their fouls. She anfwered in a 
manner capable of moving the heart of adamant, 
Alas ! fathers, have you renounced all humanity ? 
do you fee with indifference, the fpent vi&im with¬ 
out motion ? Ah 1 confider my diflocated members, 
and have mercy on a poor wretch lying at your feet, 
overwhelmed with horror and defpair. Have pity 
on my fex, my youth, and my misfortunes. Soon 
after fhe added—I yet live. And you ! O deplora¬ 
ble victims ! who groan in thefe horrid dungeons, 
may my torments alleviate your miferable fate, and 
guard you againlt the bitter cup prepared for your 
palates. May my death be the laft crime of my per- 
fecutors.—She would have continued, but fhe was 
again feized, and they poured down her throat fever- 
al quarts of very cold water ; fhe was then laid in a 
trough, where fhe was fqueezed fo feverely, that (he 
fainted. When fhe recovered her fenfes, fhe was 
ordered near a large fire, and her feet being rubbed 
with oil, were warmed fo cruelly as to raife blifters, 
and I difeovered in a little while the finews and bones. 
Thefe horrid pains could not draw a complaint from 
her.. Her courage and resignation braved the crueb 
ty of the inquifitors and fatigued the miniflers of their 
rage. Her ftrength having a third time forfaken her, 
(lie was at length carried away—I have fmee learnt 
that three days after, fhe was dragged in a dung- 


34 


cart, to a public place ; where, loaded with reproach¬ 
es and execrations, this amiable, accomplifhed and 
virtuous young lady was burnt to death, to convince 
the univerfe of the worth and need of a religion 
which was eftablifhed by Jefus Chrift ! who preach¬ 
ed nothing but meeknefs and charity, and who was 
never found to injure any one, but died on a crofs, 
even for his enemies, though he had power to def- 
troy them all. 

From many circumftances, I am perfuaded that 
this unfortunate girl, was the daughter of an old gen¬ 
tleman of my acquaintance, who took paffage with 
me from Holland, his native country, to England : 
and had related to me the perfections which him- 
felfand his friends, the Unitarians in Spain, had been 
expofed to from the inquilition. He had often men¬ 
tioned with a torrent of tears, that very daughter 
whom his own fafety had left no time to refcue. 

I was no fooner alone, than I exclaimed, Oh ! the 
abominable inquifitors ! what I had heard of them, 
was but a faint pidlure of that which I have feen. 
Can the minifters of the God of truth do thus ? Can 
they eredl tribunals for the foie purpofe of punifhing 
without mercy, all who fall into their hands, for no 
other crime than that of differing from them in opi¬ 
nion ? Not fo : none but the moft depraved of the 
human race could think of thefe things without hor- 
horror. Yet thefe blood-thirfty demons, the Spanilh 
clergy,* are audacious enough when defcending 
from the throne of fuch a tribunal, to lift up their 
bloody hands toward heaven profeffng innocence 2 
Great God 1 If thou haft unforleen deligns in per¬ 
mitting fo much guilt, fcreen me, I befeech thee, 
from falling a facriftce to it.' " 

* When we reflect on the privileges of this enlightened 
land, where the laws of humanity are so highly prized, where 
the temple of freedom towers like Atlas, and where liberty 
of conscience has millions of votaries, w’e cannot feel too much 
gratitude to the Divine Being. And under this view is it not 
surprising, that in one of our seaport towns, a company of 
gentleman should, at a public festival (O tell it not in Gath !) 
drink a toast in the following words, “ The Spanish clergy ; 
may they soon be triumphant 


Thcfe reflections over, I climbed up the chimney 
again. The darknefs of the night was favorable to 
my intentions. I fallied from one of the windows 
in the granary, and wandered over the roofs of feveral 
houfes, not daring to enter into any, and fearing, if dif- 
covered, to be betrayed. I at laft ventured notwith- 
flanding to go through a houfe, refolving to knock 
dowp with my fluke whoever fhould dare to oppofe 
me. Before I had gone down a pair of flairs, afervant 
girl efpied me, and was fo frightened at my afpeft, that 
fhe took me for the devil. My beard was very long, I 
had on a long black robe, my face was emaciated and 
my eyes fparkling with rage and defpair. The girl 
fcreamed fo loud, that the mailer of the houfe ran 
up. He was not lefs frightened than fhe when he dis¬ 
covered me. . I begged him to fear nothing ; and on 
a clofer examination found him to be a French doc¬ 
tor who cured me of a fevere fit of ficknefs. He iliook 
me by the hand while tears trickled down his cheeks. 
He conduced me to his clofet, where I gave him a 
fhort account of what had happpened to me. He 
blamed me for my imprudence in difclofing my fent- 
iments to the friars ; advifed me to be on my 
guard in future ; and having furnifhed me with a 
difguife, he prefented me with fifty dollars, defiring 
me to write to him fo foon as I fhould be out of the 
reach of the inquifition. I fet fail next morning for 
England refolving never more to fet my foot on the 
inhofpitable fhores of Spain. 


POEM ON THE LAST DAY. 

M ID thefe dire fcenes more awful fcenes fhall 
rife, 

Sad nations quake and trembling feize the fkies ; 
From the dark tombs fliall fearful lights afcend, 

And fullen founds thefleeping manfions rend ; 

Pale ghofts with terror break the dreamer’s charm, 
And deathlike cries the lift ning world alarm. 



as 


i hen midnight pangs (hall tofs the cleaving plains > 
rell famine wanton o’er unburied trains; 

^rom crumbling mountains baleful flames afpire. 
Realms fink in floods and towns diflblve in fire : 

In every blaft the fpotted plague be driven, 

And angry meteors blaze athwart the heaven ; 
Clouds of dark blood fhall blot the fun’s broad light, 
bpread round th’ immenfe and fhroud the world in 
night; 

With pale and dreadful ray the cold moon gleam, 

1 he aim lone liar diffufe an angry beam ; 
o tor ms rock the fky, afflicted oceans roar. 

And (anguine billows dye the fhudd’ring fliore : 

And round earth, thunder from th’Almighty throne, 
1 ne voice irrevocable, It is done l 
Rous d on the fearful morn (ball nature hear, 

* he trump’s deep terrors rend the troubled air, 
i; rom realm to realm the founds tremendous roll, 

'ri eav /f th ? bl ^ oad main and ^ ake aftonifh’d pole : 
lne (lumbering bones th’ archangel’s call infpire, 
Kocks link in dufl and earth be wrapt in fire ; 

* rom rejilms far diftant orbs unnumber’d come 
baa through immenfity and learn their doom : ’ 

And all yon changelefs liars that thron'd on high 
feign m immortal luftre round the Iky, 

In folemn lilence Ihroud their living light. 

And leave the world to undiftinguilh’d night, 
dark ! what dread founds defcending from the pole, 
VV ave following wave m fwelling thunders roll • 

How the tombs cleave ! what awful forms arife » 
What crowding nations pain the failing eyes : 

4 rom land to land behold the mountains rend, 
it rom Ihore to fliore the final flames afcend • 
f ound the dark poles with boundlefs terror reign 
'y hh bend immeafurable fweep the main • ’ 

1 rom morn s far kingdoms ftretch’d to realms of even 
And clime and climb with folemn roar to heaven • ’ 
wL 13 , 1 r m ° k X ruin s wmP the leflening ground, 
v\ hat fiery (beets fail through the vaulted round • 
Pour d m one mafs the land and feas decay 
Involvd the heavens diffoiving flee away. 


37 


The moon departs, the fun’s lail beams expire, 

And nature’s buried in the boundlefs fire. 

Lo 1 from the radiance of the bleft abode, 

Meffiah comes in all the pomp of God ; 

Borne on fvvift wings a ftorm before him flies, 

Stars crown his head and rainbows round him rife; 
Beneath his feet a funs broad terrors burn, 

And cleaving darknefs opes a dreadful morn !■ 
Through boundlefs fpace careering flames are driven, 
Truth’s facred holts defeend, and all the thrones of 
heaven ! 

See crowding millions call from earth’s far ends, 
See hell's dark world with fearful gloom afeends, 

In throngs incomprehenfible around, 

Worlds after worlds from nature’s farthelt bound ; 
Call’d by th’ archangel’s voice from either pole, 
Seif-moved with all created nature roll 1 
From this great train his eyes the juft divide, 

Price of his life and being’s fairelt pride : 

Rob’d by his mighty hand the ftarry throngs, 

From harps of tranfport call extatic fongs : 

Hail 1 heirs of endlefs blifs in peace throve 
Round the pure climes of everlafling love ; 

For you kind heaven with fond impatience waits, 
Pours her fair Itreams and opes her golden gates ! 

But O unhappy race to woes conftgn’d, 

Lur’d by fond plealures and to wifdom blind, 

What new Meffiah fhail the fpirit fave, 

Stay the pent flames and fhut tlTeternal grave ? 
Where bleeps the mufic of that voice divine, 

Where hides the face that could fo fvveetly fliine ? 
Now hear that flighted voice to thunder turn, 

See that mild face with flames of vengeance burn l 
High o’er their heads the ftorm of ruin roars. 

While round th’ imrhenfe no friend their fate de¬ 
plores ; 

Lo ! there to endlefs wo in throngs are driven, 

What once were angels and bright liars of heaven. 
Down, down the millions link where yon broad main, 
Heaves her dark waves and fpreads the feats of pain 5 


Where long black clouds emblaz’d with awful fire. 
Pour fullen round their heads, and in dread gloom re- 
tire. 


INTERESTING THOUGHTS ON THE DEATH OF A 
YOUNG MAN. 


O N this hand I behold one lodged, whofe fepul- 
chral ftone tells a moft pitiable tale indeed ! 
Well may the little images, reclined over the fleep- 
lng ames, hang down their heads with that penfive 
air . None can confider fo mournful a ftory, without 
reeling fome touches of fympathifing concern. His 
age twenty-eight; his death fudden; himfelf cut 
down m the prime of life amidft all the vivacity and 
vigor of manhood. Probably he entertained no ap- 
prehenfions of this evil hour. And indeed, who 
could have fufpedled, that fo bright a fun fhould go 
down at noon ? To human appearance his hill flood 
itrong. Length of days feemed written in his fan- 
guine countenance. He folaced himfelf with the 
profpect of a long feriesof earthly fatisfa&ion. W hen 
to ! an unexpected flroke defcends l defcends from 
that mighty arm, w'hich “ overturneth the moun- 
tains by their roots ; and crufhes the imaginary he¬ 
ro, before the moth 5 as quickly, and more eafily 
than our fingers prefs fuch a fluttering infea to 
death. 


IPerhaps the nuptial joys were all he thought on. 
r i ? e «« n ?r , dle breathings of his enamoured 
fou L ? „ Yet a while, and 1 *hall poflefs the ut- 
mofi of my wifhes.” “ I lhall call my charmer 
mine, and m her enjoy every thing my heart can 
crave. In the rrudft of fuch enchanting views, had 
fome faithful friend but foftly reminded him of an 
opening grave, and the end ef all things ; how un- 
feafonable would he have reckoned the admoni- 
tion ! Yet though all warm with life, and rich in 
vifionary blifs, he was even then tottering on the 
bnnk of both. Dreadtul viciflitude 1 to have the 




59 


bridal feftivity turned into a funeral folemnity l De« 
plorable misfortune ! to be fhipwrccked in the very 
haven, and to perifheven in the fight of happinefs i 
What a memorable proof is here of the frailty of 
man in his bell eftate l Look, O look on this mon¬ 
ument, ye gay and carelefs 1 Attend to this date, and 
boaft no more of to-morrow. 

Who can tell, but the bride-maids, girded with 
gladnefs, had prepared the marriage-bed ? had deck¬ 
ed it with the richell covers, and drelfed it in pillars 
of down ? When— 1 0 trull not in youth, or ftrength, 
or in any thing mortal ; for there is nothing certain, 
nothing to be depended on, beneath the unchange¬ 
able God—death, relentlefs death, is making him 
another kind of bed in the dull of the earth. Unto 
this he mull be conveyed, not with a fplendid pro- 
ceffion of joyous attendants; but llretched in the 
gloomy hearfe, and followed by a train of mourners. 
On this fee mull take up a lonely lodging—-nor ever 
be releafed until the heavens are no more. In vain 
does the confenting fair-one put on her ornaments, 
and expert her fpoufe. Did fhe not, like Sifera’s 
mother, look out ot the lattice ; chide the delays of 
her beloved ; and wonder why his chariot is fo long 
in coming ? little thinking, that the intended bride¬ 
groom had forever done with tranfient things ! that 
now everlafting cares employ his mind, without one 
jingle remembrance of his lovely Lucinda I Go, 
disappointed virgin ! go mourn the uncertainty of 
ail created blifs ! Teach thy foul to afpire after a fure 
and immutable felicity ! for the once gay and gallant 
Fidelio lleeps in other embraces ; even in the icy 
arms of death ! forgetful, eternally forgetful of thq 
world and thee. Hervey* 


A DESCRIPTION OF THE BASTILE, IN FRANCE. 

I AM happy (fays Mr. Howard) to be able to give 
forae information of the Ballile, by means of a 
pamphlet written by a perfon who was long confined 



in this prifon. It is reckoned the bell account of 
this celebrated ftru&ure ever publifhed ; and the 
faleof it being prohibited in France under very fe- 
vere penalties, it has become extremely fcarce. 

This caftle is a prifon confiding of eight very 
Itrong towers, furrounded with a fofle about one hun¬ 
dred and twenty feet wide, and a wall fixty 
feet high. The entrance is at the end of the ftreet 
of St. Antoine, by a draw-bridge, and great gates 
mto the court of L’Hotel du Government; and 
from thence over another draw-bridge, to the Corps 
de Garde, which is feparated by a ftrong barrier, con- 
itrucled of beams plated with iron, from the great 
court. This court is about 120 feet by 80. In it is 
a fountain ; and fix of the towers furround it, which 
are united by a wall of free done, ten feet thick up to 
tne top. At the bottom of this court is a large mod- 
ern Corps de Logis, which feparates it from the Court 
du Puns. This court is 50 feet by 25. Contigu¬ 
ous to it are the other two towers. On the top of 
the towers is a platform continued in terraces, on 
which the prifoners are fometjmes permitted to walk 
attended by a guard. On this platform are thirteen 
cannon mounted, which are dilcharged on days of 
rejoicing. In the Corps de Logis is the council cham¬ 
ber and the kitchen offices, &c. Above thefe are 
rooms for prifoners of -diftindlion ; and over the 
council chamber the King’s Lieutenant refides. In 
the Court de Puits is a large well for the ufe of the 
kitchen. 

The dungeons of the Tower de la Liberty extend 
under the kitchen, &c. Near that tower is a fmall 
chapel on the ground floor. In the wall of it are five 
niches, or clolets, in which prifoners are put one 
by one, to hear mafs, where they can neither fee nor 
be iecn. 

The dungeons at the bottom of the towers exhale 
the molt offenfive fcents, and are the receptacles of 
toads, rats and other kinds of vermin. In the cor¬ 
ner of each is a camp bed, made of planks, laid on 
iron bars that are fixed to the walls, and the prifon- 




41 


ers are allowed fome draw to lay on the beds, 
i hofe dens are dark, having no windows, but open¬ 
ing into the ditch : they have double doors, the in¬ 
ner ones plated with iron, with large bolts and locks. 

Of the five claffes of chambers, the mod horrid 
ones except the dungeons, are thofe that have iron 
cages : they are three in number. The cages are 
formed of beams plated all over ftrongly with iron, 
and are each of them eight feet by fix. 

The calottes, or chambers, at the tops of the tow¬ 
ers are lomewhat more tolerable. They are formed 
of eight arcades of free Hone. Here one cannot 
walk but in the middle of the room. There is 
hardly fufficient fpace for a bed from one arcade to 
another. The windows being in walls ten feet thick, 
and having iron grates within and without, admit 
but little light. In thefe rooms the heat is exceffive 
in dimmer, and the cold in winter. They have 
doves. Almod all the other rooms of the "towers 
are o&agons, about twenty feet in diameter and four¬ 
teen or fifteen feet high. They are very cold and 
damp. Each is furnifhed with a bed of green ferge, 
&c. All the chambers are numbered. The prison¬ 
ers are called by the name of their tower joined to 
the number of their room. 

A furgeon and three chaplains refide in the caflie. 
If prifoners of note are dangeroufly ill, they are gen¬ 
erally removed, that they may not die in this prifon. 
The prifoners who die in it are buried in the parifh 
of St. Paul, under the name of domedics. 

A library was founded by a prifoner, who was a 
foreigner, and died in the Badile the beginning of the 
prelent century. Some prifoners obtain leave to 
have the ufe of it. 

% One of the centinels on the infide of the cadle 
rings a bell every hour, day and night, to give notice 
that they are awake ; and on the rounds, on the 
outfide of the cadle, they ring every quarter of an 
hour. This is, in part, a defeription of that horrid 
Badile ; and will, it is hoped, lead us to prize that 
freedom, which, for one locked within its walls, it is 
j next to impoflible to obtain. Howard 



42 


DREADFUL TYRANNY IN FRANCE BEFORE THE 
REVOLUTION. 

[taken fr©m the most correct histories.] 

H ISTORY, ancient or modern, affords no in- 
ftanceof a country, in which defpotifm was 
reduced to fo complete a fyftem as in France. The 
king levied taxes by his foie authority, to a greater 
amount than are raifed by the whole of thofe terri¬ 
tories which compofe the Germanic body. The 
people were fludioufly depreiled by poverty, igno¬ 
rance and extortion. They had no rights, or were 
carefully inltru&ed never to claim them. Every 
private citizen was liable to be forced by the officers 
of government, from his ftarving family, to work in 
fome corvee of public concern, or of abfurd mag¬ 
nificence : he was taxed to more than half the a- 
mount of his income ; and among thefe, one of the 
mofl oppreffive was the fait tax, by which he was 
forced to pay at an exorbitant rate for that neceffary 
commodity, while he was neither allowed to pur- 
chafe when he pleafed, nor to afcertain the quantity ; 
but both were left at the difcretion of the farmers of 
the revenue. 

The king and his minifters poflcfied unlimited 
power of imprifonment. Under pretence of preferv- 
ing the public tranquillity, the deteftable invention of 
lettres de cachet was contrived; and this pra&ice was 
carried tofuch a dreadful excefs, that they were noto- 
rioufly fold by the miflreffes and favorites of the mon¬ 
arch, and even by their agents; by which any per- 
fon of the higher clafles, for a pecuniary confidera- 
don, might gratify, to the full extent, his envy, his 
caprice, or his revenge. 

The chain of defpotifm defcended. The privi¬ 
leged orders, as they were called, the nobility and 
clergy, participated in the rapine and injuftice. The 
criminal trials were generally fecret, and the flate tri¬ 
als always fo; and men were not elevated to the 
bench of juftice for their talents or integrity; but 


43 


the feats on thofe venerable tribunals were publicly 
fold to the highed bidder l 

The lands were chiefly poffefled by the nobility 
and other privileged orders of the rich, and the peo¬ 
ple were tenants, or, dridtly fpeaking, flaves. The 
feudal fydem was completely edablilhed, with all its 
defpotic cruelties and abfurdities : fome of which 
were (hocking beyond defcription. By the feudal 
laws of fome cantons, the people were fubjeft to be 
yoked to the carriage of their landlord, like beads of 
burden ; in fome, the tenants were obliged to pafs 
whole nights in beating the ponds and marfhes, that 
his red might not be didurbed by the croaking of the 
frogs ; in others, they were compelled to maintain 
his hounds : but the mod dreadful indance of feu¬ 
dal barbarifm was a law which authorized the lord 
in certain didricts, on his return from hunting, to 
rip open the bodies of any two of his tenants, their; 
wives or children, and foment his feet in their warm 
bowels by way of refrefhment !* 

The Badile was a general prifqu, into which all 
were cad without mercy, who chanfcr* *^ali under 
the difpleafure of the king or queen, ffiefr Sorites, 
the nobles, or almod any who were rich. . The 
taking of this prifon and its dedru&ion exhibited 
the mod adonifhing courage and fortitude of the 
citizens, perhaps ever recorded; 

When it was broken open, the mod didreffing 
fcenes were prefented to view. In fome of the apart¬ 
ments were iron cages, and in one of them was found 
a man who had been fo long confined in it, that he 
had nearly forgotten his native language. In another 
was found the bones of a man who had been darved 
to death. In a third was found another man who 
had lod his fenfes: befide numbers of prifoners of 
almod every defcription. 

* Perhaps the reader will hardly believe these things pos* 
sible in a land where religion was established by law : but 
they are true, and cannot be contradicted; and the moment 
we establish a monarchy in this country, we shall be in the 
ready way to like scenes of oppression, 


44 


Such had been, in part, the ftate of France, and of 
the rrench nation during the protra&ed period of 
more than one hundred and feventy years, when the 
opprtffed multitudes began to leek for freedom. And 
it is not to be wondered at, that a revolution fhould 
take place where oppreffion reigned with fuch vio¬ 
lence over many millions of people. But it was car¬ 
ried on with all the terror and cruelty, that the re¬ 
membrance of fuch tyranny and oppreffion is calcu¬ 
lated to infpire. 


THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 


O UR bugles had rung, for the night-cloud had 
lowered, 

4 nc j fe nt * n< ;l ftars fet their watch in the iky, 

And thoulands had funk on the ground overpowered. 
1 he weary to Deep, and the wounded to die l 


When repofmg that night on my pallet of firaw, 
a i ^. n S ^ggot that guarded the flain, 

At demrof the night a fweet vifion I faw, 

And thrice ere the cock crew I dreamt it again 0 


Methought from the battle-field’s dreadful array, 
f ar, far I had roam'd.on a defolate tra£f, 

? at V re r* nc ^ f un f^^ ne difclos’d the fweet way, 

1 o the houfe of my father, who welcom’d me back. 


I flew to the pleafant field travell’d fo oft, 

In hfe s morning march when my bofom was young. 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. 

And well knew the (train that the corn reapers fung. 


Then pledg’d we the wine-cup and fondly I fwore, 

Kint ] r .^ vvce Pi n S friends never to part, 
Mv httlc one kifs’d me a thoufand times o'er. 

And my wife fobb’d aloud in the fulnefs of heart. 


Stay ! flay with us i thou art both weary and worn. 
And fain was the war-beaten foldier to ftay^ 



45 


But forrow return’d at the dawning of morn, 

And the voice in my dreaming was melted away, 

Campbell 


PATHETIC REFLECTIONS. 

S OLITUDE ! thou has loft the power of charm¬ 
ing, faid the weeping Emma, as (he was bedew¬ 
ing Edwin’s urn with tears of love. No more with 
pleafure do I fit on the foot of yon oak, and liften to 
the fweet notes of the feathered fongfters, as I was 
wont when Edwin was alive. Alas ! my Edwin, 
never again will you vifit thefe rural walks and fhady 
bowers ! Peace, ye birds ! The voice of Edwin is 
no more heard. Droop ! hang your heads, ye 
flowrets of the field, and ye gentle dew 7 s, never ceafe 
to weep.—Sighs, foft as the gentle zephyrs, Role from * 
the fair mourner’s heart.—Edwin ! fhall I leave * 
thee ? It is only for a moment—then fhall we meet 
and part no more.—She arofe and fweetly fpoke a 
laft farewell. Mild breath of fpring 1 fan lightly his 
grave 1 feathered fons.of the air !. perch on the weep¬ 
ing willow, and in plaintive {trains fing his many vir¬ 
tues. Foot of the paffing ftranger, reft awhile at his 
tomb.. Stop—Sol fhrinks from the embrace of day, 
and hides his head behind the weftern hills. I will 
haften and feek out fome fequeftered fpot and adore 
a juft Providence. At morn, noon and eve, will 
I vifit the retreats offolitude, and refign myfelf to re¬ 
flections on the paft and thoughts on the future ; and 
O, eternal Father of mercies 1 grant, when thefe 
fcenes and my life fhall end, that I may find a fafe re¬ 
treat in the regions of calm repofe, where friendfhip, 
peace and freedom fhall never be interrupted. 

La YIN I A. 



46 


ON THE PASSION OF OUR SAVIQUR. 

T> EHOLD the aftonifh’d fun ftarts backI 
No light his blacken’d beams difplay; 
Harknefs her fable wing expands, 

And gloomy night invades the day ! 

But yet, though night maintains her reign, 

No planets fail along the fkies, 

No moon the lovely queen of night, 

No glorious conftellations rife. 

One dark, black, difmal gloom of clouds, 
Broods o’er the earth from pole to pole, 

One face of horror fpreads around, 

And veils the univerfal whole. 

See how the rending clouds divide. 

How forked lightnings glaring fly ; 

Hark ! how the awful thunders roar, 

And grumble through the angry fky. 

Ten thoufand furious whirlwinds rage, 

Along the trembling ground they fweep, 

And fwell from its immenfe abyfs, 

The furges of the bellowing deep. 

See yonder where the Lord of life, 

The great Mefliah us’d with fcorn, 

See how the trickling blood defcends, 

They crown his facred head with thorns ! 

See con tempt they drag along. 

My King, my Saviour and my God, 

O fight! inhuman fight of wo ! 

His fkfh is furrow’d with the rod. 

And now a horror-bearing fcene,. 

VVith nails they pierce his feet and hands, 

And innocence upon the crofs, 

The executioner extends ! 

For this the dead awake ! 

For this the mountains (hake ; 
r or this the cheerful light 
Is veil’d in gloom of night ’ 
or this the rocks divide, 

£ or this the wind and tide 


47 


Refound againfl the fhore; 
For this the thunders roar ; 
For this the lightnings flame, 
For this convulfions tear 
The univerfal frame 


AN ESCAPE FROM THE BASTILE IN FRANCE, 

[The following account of the almoft miraculous ef- 
cape ol M. de la Tude and his companion M. d’ 
AJegre, from the famous Bailile, mull afford enter¬ 
tainment to every reader. It exhibits a fpecimen 
of enterprize, fortitude and perfeverance, of which 
there is fcarce a parallel; and it may rank among 
the molt aftonifhing phenomena of thefe ages. 
The account was drawn up by M. de la Tude, 
and publifhed at Amfterdam. This extract is 
from Johnfon’s translation, lately publifhed in 
England.] 

TN the Baftile, neither IcifTars* knife, nor any other 
X edge tool is allowed ; and for an hundred Louis 
your turnkey, or man who brings you vi&uals would 
not let you have a quarter of a yard of thread. Now 
on a moderate calculation it was necdTary to have 
fourteen hundred feet of cord ; two ladders, one of 
wood, from twenty to thirty feet in length, and an¬ 
other of rope one hundred and eighty. It was ne* 
ceflary to remove feveral iron grates from the chim¬ 
ney, and to bore a hole in one night through a wall 
many feet thick, at a fmall diflance from a fentinel. 
It was necelfary to create and form the articles I have 
mentioned, to accomplifh our efcape ; and we had 
no resource but our own hands. But this was not 
aii the difficulty ; it was necefTary to conceal the 
wooden and rope ladders of two hundred and fifty 
fteps, a foot long and an inch thick, and feveral other 
things prohibited in the room of a prifoner : and al¬ 
though the officers, accompanied by the turnkey, 
paid us a vifit many times a week, and honored our 




43 


perfons with a drift examination, yet this fcheme 
was uppermoft in my minch I had often mentioned 
it to my companion, who was far from a blockhead, 
but he always replied that it was impoftible. How¬ 
ever, his objeftions, not difeouraging me, only fpur- 
red me on to my purpofe. 

One mull be confined in the Baftile, to know how 
wretches are there treated. Figure to yourfelften 
years fpent in a room without feeing or fpeaking to 
the prifoner over your head—Many times have there 
been immured the husband, the wife, and a family 
of children, for a number of years, without either ap¬ 
prehending that a relation was near.’ You never 
hear any news there ; let the king die, let the min- 
ifiry be totally changed, you are not told a fyliable of 
the matter. The officers, the furgeon, the turn¬ 
keys, fay nothing to you, but “ Good morning!” 
“ Good evening 1” “ Do you ftand in need of any 
thing ?” 

Mr. Berrier had granted me permiffion to hear 
mafs on Sundays and Wedncfdays, and had allowed 
the fame liberty to my companion. He had given 
that leave alfo to the prifoner who lodged above us, 
that is to fay, in number three of the tower called 
La Comte, which is the firft to the right hand as you 
enter the Baftile. My mind being intent on my fa¬ 
vorite fcheme of efcaping, I told my comrade that I 
had a mind to take a view of this room, that is, the 
room of the prifoner who lodged over our heads. 
This I thought we could do at our return from mafs. 
For this purpofe, I defired hirn to put his tweezer- 
cafe in his handkerchief; and when we had regained 
the fecond ftory, to contrive, by pulling out his hand¬ 
kerchief, that the tweezer cafe lhould fall down flairs 
to the greateft poflible diftance : and that he fhould 
defire the turnkey to go and pick it up. This was 
effefted to our minds. Being foremofl, I ran up 
without lofs of time (the prifoner having not yet re¬ 
turned from mafs) drew the bolt and opened the door 
^ examined the height of the room, and 
found it could not be above nine or ten feet. 1 fhut 


49 


the door again, and had leifure to meafure one, two 
and t hree fteps of the ftaircafe. I counted their num¬ 
ber from that chamber to ours, and difcoverer] a dif¬ 
ference of about five feet. As the feparation was 
not a itone arch, I readily perceived that it could not 
be five feet thiejk, and confequently muft be double. 

I then faid to my companion, “ Never dcfpair ! 
believe me, with a little patience and courage we 
may make our efcape. Here is my dlimate, (pre- 
fenting him with a paper) there is a drum* between 
the room on the third flory and ours.” Without 
looking at the paper, he faid, “ Suppofe all the drums 
of the army were there, how fhould they help us to 
efcape ?” I anfwered, “ We do not want the drums 
of the army ; but if, as I think, there is a hollow 
place to conceal my ropes and other inflruments we 
fhall have occafion for, I will engage that we fhall be 
fuccefsfulin our enterprife. 55 —“ But before we talk 
of hiding ropes, we muft have them ; and we know 
too well that it is impoflible to get ten feet.” “ As to 
the ropes, 5 'faid I, “ giveyourfelf no trouble about 
them ; for in the trunk of my pofbchaile, now be¬ 
fore us, there is more than a thoufand feet. 55 He 
looked at me very earneitly, and laid, “ Faith ! I be¬ 
lieve you have loft yourfenfes! 1 know as well as 
you, the contents of your trunk and of your port¬ 
manteau ; I am certain there is not a foot of rope in 
either; and yet you will tell me they hold more than 
a thoufand.” “ Yes, 55 1 replied, “ in that trunk are 
twelve dozen of fhirfcs, fix dozen pair of filk ftock- 
ings, twelve dozen pair of under ftockings, five doz¬ 
en drawers, and fix dozen napkins. Now by un¬ 
ravelling all thefe, I fhall have more than enough to 
make a thoufand feet of rope. 55 “True,” faid he, 

“ but how fhall we remove thofe iron bars from the 
chimney For we have only our hands, and we can¬ 
not create inflruments for fogreat an undertaking. 55 
“ My friend,” faid I, “ the hand is the inftrument 

* A double ceiling lowered to produce symmetry on a prin¬ 
cipal story, or to prevent the communication of sounds. 



50 


of all inflruments ; it is that which makes every one 
of them; and men vvhofe heads are capable of work¬ 
ing, are never at a Jofs for refources. Look,” con¬ 
tinued I, “at the iron hinges of our folding table ; 
I will put each into a handle, give it an edge by whet¬ 
ting it on the tiled floor of our apartment: we have 
afteel; by breaking it I will manufacture a good 
knife in lefs than two hours, to make the bandies ; 
and it willferve alfo for an hundred other purpofes. 
Then with thefe two hinges, my life for it, we will 
contrive to remove thole iron bars.” 

We talked of nothing elfe all the day, and as foon 
as we had flipped, pulled one hinge from our table ; 
with that we took up a tile from our floor, and fet a- 
bout digging fo fuccdsfully, that in fix days we per¬ 
forated it, and found to our fatisfa&ion, that there 
were two floors three feet diftant from each other. 
From this moment we confldered our efcape as a 
certainty. We replaced the tile, which had no ap¬ 
pearance of having been removed. Next day, I 
broke our Heel and made a knife of it, and with this 
inftrument we formed handles, from pieces of fire¬ 
wood, for the hinges of our table. We foon gave an 
edge to each ; then we unravelled two of our fhirts, 
having ripped them to the hems, drawing out one 
thread after another. We knit thefe firings togeth¬ 
er, made of them a certain number of clews of an 
equal and determinate length ; and the clews being 
finifhed, we divided them in two, which formed two 
large bottoms : There were fifty threads, in each fix- 
ty feet long. We then twilled them and formed 
a rope of about fifty-five feet in length ; with the 
wood they brought us for the fire, made twenty 
rounds, which conne&ed by the rope we had made, 
became a ladder, twenty feet long. At lad we began 
with the mofl difficult undertaking, the removal of 
the iron bars from the chimney. To accomplifh 
this, we faflened our rope ladders with a weight to 
the end of them, and by means of the fleps fupport- 
ed ourfelves in the air while we difplaced the bars. 
In a few months we loofened them all, but n flored 


51 


them to their places ready to be removed at any 
time when we wanted them. This was a trouble- 
fome piece of work indeed. Heavens ! we never 
dtfeended without bloody hands, and our bodies 
were often fo bruifed in the chimney, that we could 
not renew our toil for fometime afterwards. 

This labor over, we wanted a wooden ladder of 
twenty feet, from the trench to reach the parapet, 
where the guards are polled, that way to enter the 
garden of the governor. Every day they gave us 
wood for firing from eighteen to twenty inches long. 
We Rill wanted blocks and many other things, and 
our hinges were not fit for thefe purpofes, much lefs 
to faw billets. In a few hours from an iron candle- 
flick in our pofleffion, and the other fragment of the 
^leel, I made a moft excellent faw, with which in a 
quarter of an hour I would have been bound to cut 
afunder a log as thick as my leg. With the knife, 
the hinges and the faw, we began to fhape and finooth 
our billets, to make at each end a kind of joint or 
mortife and tenons to fix one, in another, with two 
holes, one to receive a round, and the other a peg to 
prevent their (baking ; and as fad as we finifhed a 
part of our ladder, we concealed it between the two 
floors. 

With thefe implements we made a pair of com¬ 
pares, afquare, a reel, blocks, fleps, &c. 

As the officers and turnkeys often entered our a- 
partment in the day-time, when we lea ft expelled 
them, we were obliged, not only to hide our tools, 
but the fmalleft chips and rubbifh that we made, the 
Jeaftof which would have betrayed us. We had 
likewife given each of them a private name. For 
in fiance, we called the faw, Faunus ; the reel, Anu- 
bis ; the hinges, Tubal Cain ; the drum, Polyphe¬ 
mus ; all in allujion to the fabulous grotto ; the 
wooden ladder, we called Jacob ; the flops, fuckers ; 
a rope, a dove, &c. and the other, taking the hint, 
threw his handkerchiefor napkin over what was to 
be concealed, or removed it; for we were always on 
our guard 


$2 


Not having materials fufficient to form two Tides 
to our wooden ladder, it had only one pole, twenty 
ieet long, m which were inferted twenty rounds fif¬ 
teen inches long, that proje&ed from the pole fix 
inches on eachnde, and every round with its peg 
was fattened with pack-thread, fo that it could not 
fup m ufing it by night. When this ladder was fin- 
dheti, we hid it in the hollow of the floor ; and then 
let at work about the ropes of the great ladder, 
Much was to be an hundred and eighty feet long. 

e iHv 5r n Ve , our napkins, ftockings, draw¬ 
ers, IiIk ttockmgs and what not. Asfaft as we made 
a clow oi a certain length, we hid it to prevent de¬ 
tection ; and when we had completed a certain num- 
her, in one night, we twitted our capital rope. It 
was white as fnow, and I will venture to fay, that no 
ipmner could have made a better. 

AH round the Baftile, there is an entablature, 
which projefts three or four feet. We were con 
vjnced, that at every ftep of our dtfcent, the ladder 
would vibrate from fide to fide, and at thofe inter¬ 
vals, the iteaditft head mutt be overpowered. r l’o 
prevent either of us from being crufhed by a fall, we 
made a fecond rope, three hundred and lixty feet 
tong, or twice the meafure of the height of the tow- 
er. 1 bis rope was to pafs through a block of our 
conftruohon ; that is to fay, a kind of fixed pullet’, 
hat there might be no danger of its flicking between 
the fides and tneiron box of the latter; and thus ei¬ 
ther ol us, whether above or belew the tower by 
means of tnis cord, might fuftain his comrade in 
& r 7< nt Ws defeending fatter than he 
cQuld wifh. Befides thefe, we made Ihorter cords 
to .alien our rope ladder and our block to a piece of 
Ca ?iru n ’ arK ^ ^ or ol h er unforefeen exigencies 

r n £ htf !l co , r r !i wer ® ail , read y- their 'meafure 
hn,Jft Un r ed u et - W f had ttill to make two 
hundred fteps for the great ladder and the wooden 
one ; and to prevent the tteps of the rope-ladder from 
luftling againft the wall as we descended, we cover¬ 
ed them with the linings of our bed-gowns, under 


53 


waiftcoats, &c. Thefe preparations coll us eighteen 
months work, night and day. 

You have feen the requilites we needed to get 
through our chimney on the platform of the Baftile, 
to defcend from thence into the trench, to get up the 
parapet, and enter the governor’s garden ; to de- 
foe nd again, by means of our wooden ladder, or a- 
nother, into the great trench by the gate of St. An¬ 
thony, the fpot that was to blefs us with our liberty. 
We needed, befides, a dark night; and yet a dread¬ 
ful evil might intervene : it might rain from five in 
the evening tiil nine or ten, and then the weather be¬ 
come fair. In that cafe, the centinels walking round 
from one poll to another, not only all our toils and 
preparations would be loft, but to increafe the difaf- 
ter, inflead of our receiving confolation, we fhould 
be fent to the dungeon, and while the Marchionefs 
continued in power, be watched with additional rig¬ 
or. We were much alarmed with the apprehenlion of 
this danger : but, by reflecting on it, .1 difcovered 
the means of removing it. I informed my compan¬ 
ion, that fince the building of this wall, the Seine 
had overflowed at lead three hundred times ; that its 
waves mult have diffolved the falts contained in the 
mortar, the depth of half an inch, every time, and 
that confequently it would be eafv for us to perforate 
a hole in it, by which we might efcape. with lefs haz¬ 
ard. That we could obtain a gimblet by drawing a 
fcrevv out of our bedftead, to which wc would fix a 
good crofs handle ; and with it might, make fome 
holes in the joining of the Hones, to Hick in it our 
iron bars, by which, bctween.us, we might remove 
more than five tons weight with the purchafe of the 
lever, and fo might eafily pierce the wall that fepa- 
rates the trench of the Baltile from that of St. An¬ 
thony’s gate. Accordingly, we made wrappers for 
our iron bars, drew out a bed-ferew, and made a 
gimblet of it, and when our apparatus was ready, 
though the river had overflowed, and the water was 
three or four feet deep in each trench, yet wc refolved 
to depart the next day ; that is, in the evening of the 
25th of February, 1756. 

F 9 



54 


Befides my trunk, I had a large portmanteau ; and 
not doubting but the clothes on our backs would be 
ioaked by crofting and working in the water, we fib 
led this portmanteau with a complete fuit, not omit¬ 
ting hats, (lockings, (hoes, and the bell of every ar¬ 
ticle left us. Next day, as foon as we had dined, we 
titted up our great ladder, with its numerous flight 
o. iteps, and then hid it under our beds that it might 
not be difeovered by our turnkey, when he brought 
our (upper. We next adjufted our wooden ladder 
then made up the reft into feveral bundles, being free 
from the fear of any vifit, till the ufual hour of five. 
1 he two iron bars, for which we had occafion, were 
pulled down. and put into their wrappers, both to 
prevent a noife, and that we might handle them more 
conveniently. We had provided ourfelves with a 
bottle of ufquebaugh, to keep us warm and recruit 
our itrength, (hould we be obliged to work in the 
water. This proved an excellent precaution ; for 
without this, we fhould never have been able to 
itand up to our necks in the wet for fix hours. 

,, The critical moment now arrived : we both trem¬ 
bled . put our fupper had fcarcely been brought up 
when, in (pile of a rheumatic pain in my arm, I fet 
about climbing up chimney, and had a hard llruggle 
to reach the top. I was almoft (mothered with the 
loot, not being aware that chimney (weepers arm 
then* elbows and loins with defenfives, and put a 
lack over their heads to fecure them from the ciuft. 

yb°ws and knees were accordingly flayed, the 
blood dreaming from my elbows to my hands and 
from my knees to my feet. At laft I reached the 
top of the chimney, where 1 placed myfelf aftride. 
and from thence unwound a ball of packthread that I 
hadin my pocket, and to the end of which mv com¬ 
panion had agreed to faften the ftrongeftrope that held 
xny portmanteau. By this mean, I drew it up and 
lowered it on the platform. I drew up -in the fame 
manner, the two iron bars, and the reft of the par- 
ki S i/;£ V ' ; ; 1 , C . h wt ' ha ^ oc cafion. I then let down the 
pack-thread to raife the rope ladder (having already 


55 


drawn up the wooden one) drawing to myfelf theSu¬ 
perfluous length, that by the end my comrade might 
mount the chimney with more facility than I had 
done ; and at his lignal I fattened it. He afcended 
with eafe ; and we finilhed drawing up the remain¬ 
der, and fufpended the whole in fuch a manner a- 
crofe the chimney, that we defcended both at once 
on the platform, ferving for a counterpoilb to each 
other. 

Twohorfes could hardly have removed all our 
baggage. We began with rolling up. our rope lad¬ 
der, which made a volume five feet high and a foot 
thick, and we wheeled this kind of miilftone on that 
tower of the treafury which we thought moil favor¬ 
able to our defcent. We fattened this ladder fecure- 
]y to a piece of cannon, and then let it gently down 
into the trench. In the lame manner we fattened 
our block, patting through it the rope three hundred 
and lixty feet long ; and when we had moved alkie 
all our other parcels, I tied my thigh fecurely to the 
rope of the block, got on the ladder, and in propor¬ 
tion as I defcended its fteps, my companion let out 
the rope of the block ; but notwithttanding this pre¬ 
caution, every time I moved, my body rdembled a 
kite dancing in the air ; lo that, had this happened 
by day-light, notone of a thou fund perfons who 
might have feen me, but would have given me over 
for lott ; yet I arrived fafe in the trench. Immedi¬ 
ately my companion lowered to me my portmanteau, 
the iron bars, the wooden ladder, and all our equip¬ 
age, which I placed on a little riling above the lur- 
face of the water, at the foot of the tower. My com¬ 
rade next fattened the rope of the block at.the other 
end above his knee, and when he had given me a 
ttgnal of his being on the ladder, I performed the 
fame manoeuvre for him below, which he had done 
from me above, to prevent a fall. I took the further 
precaution to place the laft ftep under me, and thus, 
in feme degree, faved him the dilagreeable vibration 
which I had experienced. He got down to me, 
though, during the whole, the fentinel could not be 


56 


forty feet from us, walking on the corridor, as it 
did not rain ; which prevented our mounting thither 
to get into the garden, according to our firit plan. 
VVe were therefore obliged to make ufe of our iron 
bars. I took one of them with the gimblet, and mv 
comrade the other. Neither did i forget to pocket 
the bottle of ulquebaugh. We proceeded direaiy 
that parts the trench of the Baftile from 
that oi St- Anthony’s gate, between the garden and 

^,fr Vei T S f h0 r Ufe - . 1 , herewas > in this place, a 
imall trench, lix feet wide and about the fame in 
cleptn, whicn vvettcd us to the arm-pits 
At the moment that I began with my gimblet to 
bore a hole between two fiones to infert our levers 
the Major’s round palled 11 s with the great lanthorn’ 
but ten or twelve feet, at moft, over our heads. To 
concent ourfelves, we flood up to the chin in water 
and when it was gone, I foon made two or three 
fmall holes with my gimblet; and in a fhort time 
we got a large Hone out. I drank a draught on the 
occalion, and made my companion do the fame. 
We then attacked a fecond Hone ; the fecond watch 
palled us, and we again concealed ourfelves in the 
water as before. We were obliged to perform this 
ceremony every half hour that we were difturbed by 
the watch. Before midnight, we had difplaced more 
than two wheel barrows of Hone. In a few hours 
we had made a handfome breach in the wall, which 
accordtng to the Major’s account, is four feet and a 
half thick. I immediately bade my friend get out, 
and wait for me on the other fide ; and. fhoukl I 
meet with any misfortune in fetching the portman¬ 
teau to flee at the leafi noife. Thanks to henv. 
en. ! got it without difficulty ; he drew it out; 
hind'us** * ^ ® ac ^ e * the re ^ °f our baggage be . 
In the trench of St. Anthony’s gate we thought 

vn U nS lfi\° U n 0f Clan , Ser ’ Bllt we ha( J fcarccly It 
vanced fiity fteps, when we fell into the aqueduct in 
the middle of that great trench, with at leafi Ik feet 
of water over our heads: but it being only about 


57 


fix feet wide, we gained the other fide. We were 
now out of danger ; and here ended the horrors of 
that dreadful night. 

As the trench formed a declivity, thirty paces from 
thence, we were on dry ground. Then we em¬ 
braced each other, and fell on our knees to thank 
God for his great mercy, that neither of us had been 
dallied to pieces, and that both of us were reftored 
to liberty. 

All the clothes we had on were thoroughly foak- 
ed, but we had provided for this inconvenience, by 
thofe in my portmanteau ; which being well covered 
at top with dirty linen and carefully packed, were 
not injured by a drop of water. 

Our hands were galled by handling the Hones of 
the wall ; and what may feem furprifing is, that we 
were lefs cold in the water than on dry ground ; 
when ap univerfal tremor feized us, and we almoft 
loll the ufe of our hands. As we mounted the Hope, 
it llruck four o’clock. We got into the firlt hack¬ 
ney coach, and went to the houfe of Mr. Silhouette, 
chancellor of the Duke of Orleans; but unluckily 
he was at Verfailies ; we then flew for refuge to the 
Abbey St. Germaindes-prez. 

•swEasasai 


ON FRIENDSHIP. 

H AIL! facred friendfhip, fraught with choice!! 
bleffings, 

Where fouls congenial talle thy facred union, 

Bound by the cement of refin'd affe£lion, 

Founded on virtue. 

Truth, heavenly goddefs, baffles our refearches, 
While painful languor fprings from ceafelefs ftudy ; 
Welcome fweet convene, kind refrefhing cordial, 
Ever delightful. 

Thy cheering influence foodies the ruffled pafiions, 
While pale misfortunes fink the weary fpirits, 
lo the clouds vanifh where the radiant funbeams, 
Shine in full fplendof. 



58 


If thus exalted thy enlivening pleafure, 

In thefe dull regions : how fublimely glorious, 

In celeftial manfions, where immortal friendfhip 
Blooms in perfe&ion. 


REFLECTIONS IN A BURYING GROUND. 

TJERE is the laitftage of life’s journey ; here is 
p*-*• .the collefcted rendezvous of fuffering mortals i 
nere is a fafe retreat from the barbed fhafts of malice 
pointed perils, and from the rod of mifery. 
•Were, after noble and ignoble views ; after every 
ardent wifti; after purfuing every flattering objedt. 
w e find the iffue of them all. Here refts the poor 
ilave, forgetful of his toils and galling yoke, equally 
accommodated with his oppreffor. Here the poor 
?nd the rich, lie down together, and the fervantis 
tree from his mailer. Here, proftrate in the dull, 
] ay the degraded reli&s of fearing mortals ! Ought 
we not, then, to remember the tranfient vifion of 
ter re it rial greatnefs, and a& fo as to be prepared for 
thofe untried, and eternal fcenes of exigence which 
await us after death? 


REFLECTIONS ON SUNSET. 

B EHOLD now the beautiful evening drawing 
her fable curtain over the world. All circum- 
itances concur, to huih our paffions, and footlie our 
cares; liberty, that deareft of names, gives an addi¬ 
tional, an inexpreflible charm to every delightful ob¬ 
ject. See how that amazing luminary beautifies the 
weftern clouds, defeending lower and lower, till his 
chariot wheels feem to hover on the utmofl verge of 
day. 1 he ground is now overfpread with glimmer¬ 
ingIhades, making a moft beautiful landfcape. The 
melodious tribe of feathered fongfters. full of grateful 
acknowledgments, are now paying their laft tribute 




59 


of harmony, and Toothing themfelves to reft, with an 
hymn of praife to the great Creator. See the diftant 
eminences are tipt with ftreaming gold : the loftieft 
trees in the groves and diftant towers catch the laft 
fmiles of day ; all nature ftill irradiated by the depart¬ 
ing beams. But oh ! how tranlient is the diftindlion 1 
how momentary tire gift 1 like all other bleflings 
which mortals enjoy below 7 , it is gone almoft as Toon 
as granted. How languifhingly it trembles on the 
leafy fpires. The lowing herds are bending flowly 
their way along the verdant meadow: now the 
gamefome lambs are grown weary ; and the tired 
ihepherd has impofed lilence on his pipe. The lit¬ 
tle vivacity that remains of day decays every mo¬ 
ment. It can no longer hold its ftation. While I 
fpeak it expires, and refigns the iilent world to night. 


AN ACCOUNT OF THE CELEBRATED VOLTAIRE. 

D URING a long life, Voltaire was continually 
treating the fcriptures with contempt, and en¬ 
deavoring to fpread the poifon of infidelity among 
the nations. In his laft illnefs he fent for Tronchin. 
When the Dotlor came, he found Voltaire in the 
greateft agonies, exclaiming with the utmoft horror— 
“lam abandoned by God and man.” He promised 
the Do6Ior half he was worth for fix months life. 
The Dodlor anfwered, fir, you cannot live fix weeks. 
Voltaire replied, “ Then I fhall go to hell, and you 
will go with me l* and foon after expired. 

He was a man of great and various talents, but his 
want of found learning and moral qualifications, will 
ever prevent him from being ranked among the ben- 
efadlors of mankind. 

During his laft vifit at Paris, when his triumph was 
complete, and he had even feared that he fhould die 
with glory, amidft the acclamations of an infatuated 
theatre, he was Itruck by the hand of providence, 
and fated to make a very different termination of his 
career. 





60 


In the midft of his triumphs, a violent diforder 
raifed apprehenfions for his life. D’Alembert, Di¬ 
derot, and Marmontel, haftened to fupport his refo- 
1 udon in his laft moments, but were only witneffes 
of their mutual ignominy as well as his own. Re- 
morfe, rage, reproach, and blafphemy, all accompany 
and characterize the long agonies of the dying 
atheift. 

On his return from the theatre, amidfl the toils he 
was refuming, to acquire frefh applaufes, he was 
warned that the long career of his impiety was draw¬ 
ing to an end. 

In fpite of all the fophifters around him, he gave 
ligns in the fir It days of his illnefs, of wi fifing to re¬ 
turn to God, whom he had fo often blafphemed. ID 
called for the prieit His danger increafmg, he wrote 
the icllowing note to the Abbe Gaultier You 
nad promifed me, fir, to come and hear me. I intreat 
you would take the trouble of calling on me as foon 
as partible.” 


. A few days after, he wrote the following deciara- 
t « 10n V th . e underwritten, declare, for thefe four 
days palt, having been afflicted with a vomiting of 
oiood, at the age of eighty, four, and not having been 
a A°, , to ^ lra ? P iyfelf to the church, I confcfled to the 
Abbe Gaultier ; and, if it pleafe God to difpofe of 
ine, I die in the church in which I was born ; hop 
ing that toe divine mercy will deign to pardon all my 
faults.” Signed, March, 1778. After the two vvi u 

nciles his nephew and the Marquis his friend, had 

iigned this declaration, Voltaire added the following • 

I he Abbe Gaultier, my confeffor, having apprif- 

i WaS a ld a ™° ng a certain fct of People, 
that I fhould proteft againft every thing I did at mv 

fp?ech:>’ rebydeClare,that 1 "^rnadefuc^ 

After this, the companions of Voltaire ufed their 
utmoft endeavors to prevent this celebrated infidel 
from any lurther recantation. Even his confeiTor 
was refufed admittance, and the prieft whom he had 
lent for. And according to the circumftances of his 


61 


death, it does not appear that he himfelf continued 
to cheriih the convidli’ons which he had manifefted. 

If his affociates had let him alone and he been 
fuffer'ed to a61 his mind without reftraint, there is 
fome probability that he would have renounced his 
I infidelity. For, according to his own words, he 
muft have felt itrong convictions and a keen remorfe 
of confcience. 

But as he lived, folikewife he probably died, an in¬ 
fidel of the fir ft rank. And what, alas! rrnift have 
been the terrible difappointments of his foul, on 
entering the borders oi that exiftence which never 
f ends ! Oh 1 who will afk to die the death of Vol¬ 
taire, and to have their latter end like his ?—If the 
ftings of a guilty confcience are intolerable while 
here in the body, what muft they be with thofe who 
continue wilfully impenitent, when they fhall be 
diflodged by death ? The loft foul in Shakefpeare, 
fpeaks in the following words on the fubje£l of Fu¬ 
ji ture woe :— 

“ But that I am forbid 

To tell the fecrets of my prifon houfe ; 

I could a tale unfold, whole lighted word 
Would harrow up thy foul; freeze thy warm blood; 
Make thy two eyes like ftars ftart from their fpheres; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 

And each particular hair to Hand on end 
Like quills upon the fretted porcupine ; 

But this eternal blazon muft not be 
To ears of fidli and blood.*' 

If fueft are the fee nos to be realized by thofe who 
rejeift and defpife divine revelation, my humble re. 
queft is, that I may “ die the death of the righteous,’* 
and that my “ laftend may be like his.” 

Any who have found themfelves injured by the 
4 . poifoifof Voltaire s writings, may find relief, by pe- 
fufing Findlay’s vindication of the facrcd books from 
his mifreprefentations and cavils ; and alfo from Le- 
fimu’s Letters of certain Jews to Voltaire. The 
■F 








G2 


hoary infidel cuts but a forry figure in the hands of 
thefe fons of Abraham. 

Taken principally from Simpson's Plea. 


THE GRAVE. 

nPHXS is the rendezvous for all 
db The trifling fons of mirth ; 

Here the frail fons of Adam fall, 

And mingle into earth. 

And here muft youth and beauty lie, 
Here friendfhip too muft dwell; 

Here the fond heart forgets to figh, 

Or heave with pity’s fwell. 

For here fhall forrow ceafe to be, 
Afflidiions all fhall ceafe ; 

But not exchang’d forfports or glee— 
This is the inn of peace. 

No noify joys, no rude debate, 

No contefts enter here ; 

No fports of love, no venom hate, 

No fmile, no figh, no tear. 

Thefe thoughts a mix’d fenfation give, 
And doubly pain the breaft ; 

It makes us dread to ceafe to live, 

Yet long to be at reft. 


AN EVENING REFLECTION. 

5 VE feen, in twilight’s penfive hour, 

. 1 he moss-clad dome, the mould’ring tower, 

In awful ruin ftand: 




63 


That dome where grateful voices fling, 
That tower where chiming muiic rung, 
Majeftically grand. 

I’ve fecn, ’mid fculptur’d pride, the tomb, 
Where heroes flept in filent gloom, 
Unconfcious of their fame ; 

Thofe who with laurel'd honors crown’d, 
Among their foes fpread terror round, 
And gain’d an empty name. 

I’ve feen in death’s dark palace laid, 

The ruins of a beauteous maid, 
Cadaverous and pale: 

That maiden, who, while life remain’d, 
O’er rival’d charms in triumph reign’d, 
The iniftrefs of the vale. 

I’ve feen where dungeon damps abide, 

A youth admir’d in manhood’s pride, 

In fancied greatnefs rave 1 
He who in reafon’s happier day, 

Was virtuous, witty, nobly gay, 

Learn’d, generous and brave. 

Nor dome nor tower in twilight {hade, 
Nor hero fali’n, nor beauteous maid, 

To ruins all confign’d ; 

Can with fuch pathos touch my bread, 

As, on the maniac’s form imprefs’d, 

The RUINS OF A NOBLE MIND. 


THE WISH, 

G IVE me, in fome fequeftered grove, 
For her, the rural nymph I love, 
To urge the daily toil ; 

At evening with the fun retire, 

And rear our little cottage fire, 

And fee our children fmile, 






64 


With fuch a mate, when tempeds roar, 
And dafh the wild waves to the fhore, 
How fweet to fpend the night; 

To hear their utmod rage defcend. 

The roof refound,, the foreds rend, 

And footh her from affright. 

To fit and fympathife with thofe, 

To wifh an end to all their woes, 

Lefs happy far, than we ; 

Without a meal! without a bed ! 
Without a cov’ring for the head, 

Or where on earth to flee ! 

Still may our hofpitable door, 

On fuch a night at any hour, 

Admit the wretch forlorn ; 

Admit him to the warmed feat, 

Admit him to the fmoaking treat, 

And fhield him till the morn. 

So be our matin thanks inclin’d, 

To him the power who made us kind ; 

For what are we alone ? 

A crew on error ’s ocean tod, 

And, but for aid fuperior, lod, 
Prefumptuous in our own i 

And give us on that awful day. 

When time fhall fvveep the worlds away, 
To meet the throne of grace : 
Without a doubt, without a fear, 

To ft and and fee, to ftafid and hear, 

Our Maker face to face. 


G5 


THE DEATH OF ALTAMONT, A CELEBRATED 
INFIDEL OF EXTRAORDINARY ABILITIES, WHO 
DIED IN DESPAIR.— RELATED BY DR. EDWARD 
YOUNG. 

T HE fad evening before the death of that noble 
youth, whofe laft hours_fuggelted the moft in- 
terefting thoughts, I was with him. No one was 
there, but his phyfician, and an intimate, whom he 
loved, and w hom he had ruined. At my coming in, 
he faid : 

“You, and the phyfician, are come too late.—I 
have neither life nor hope. You both aim at mira¬ 
cles. You would raife the dead.” 

Heaven, I laid, was merciful. 

“ Or I could not have been thus guilty. What 
has it not done to blefs and to lave me ?—I have been 
too ftrong for Omnipotence ! I have plucked down 
ruin.” 

I faid, thebleffed Redeemer— 

“ Hold ! hold ! you wound me ! That is the rock 
on which 1 fplit—I denied his name.” 

Refilling to hear any thing from me, or take any 
thing from the phyfician, he lay filent, as far as lud- 
den darts of pain would permit, until the clock ftruck. 
Then with vehemence he exclaimed ; 

“ Oh time ! time! It is fit thou fhoulcJeft thus 
firike thy murderer to the heart.—How art thou 
fled forever !— A month !—Oh, fora fingle week ! 

I afk not for years. Though an age were too fhort 
for the much I have to do.” 

On my faying that we could not do too much : 
that heaven was a bleflfed place— 

“ So much the worfe. 5 Tis loft •' ’tis loft l heaven 
is to me the fevereftpart of hell 
Soon after I propofed prayer. 

“ Pray, you that can. I never prayed. I cannot 
pray. Nor need I. Is not heaven on my fide aft 
ready ? It clofes with my conference. Its fevereft 
ftrokcsbutfecond my own,’ 5 
F 2 




66 


His friend being much touched, even to tears, at 
this (who could forbear ? I could not) with a moft 
affe&ionate look, he faid : 

“ Keep thofe tears for thyfelf. I have undone 
thee. Doft thou weep for me ? That is cruel What 
can pain me more ?’> 

Here his friend, too much afie&ed, would have 
left him, 

“ No, Hay. Thou Hill mayeft hope ;—therefore 
hear me. How rnadly have I talked ? How madly 
halt thou liHened and believed ? But look on my 
prefent Hate, as a fullanfwer to thee, and to myfelf. 
1 his body is'all weaknefs and pain ; but my loul, as 
if Hung up by torment to greater ftrength and fpirit, 
is full powerful to reafon; full mighty to fuffer. And 
that which thus triumphs within the jaws of mortal¬ 
ity, is doubtiefs immortal, immortal. And as for a 
Deity, nothing lefs than an Almighty, could inHiCl 
what I feel. 5 ’ 

I was about to congratulate this pafiive, involun¬ 
tary con felfor, on his alferting the two prime arti¬ 
cles ol his creed, extorted by the rack of nature ; 
when he tlms very paftjonately exclaimed *. 

\No> no.' let me fpeak on. I have not long to 
ipeak—My much injured friend ! my foul, as my 
body, lies in ruins ; in fcattered fragments of broken 
thought : remorle for the pah throws my thought on 
the future. Worfe dread of the future, Hrikes it back 
on the paH. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didft 
thou feel halfthe mountain that is on me, thou wouldefi 
ttruggie with the martyr for his Hake, and blefs 
heaven for the flames :— Fhat is not an everlafiing 
flame ; that is not an unquenchable fire.” 

How were we ftruck ? yet, foon after, Hill more, 
v/ith what an eye ofdiftravftion, what a face of def- 
pair, he cried out: 

“ My principles have poifoned my friend ; my 
extravagance has beggared my boy ; my unkind- 
nefs has murdfered my wife 1 And is there another 
hell, Oh \ thou blaiphemed, yet moft indulgent 


Lord God l hell itfelf is a refuge, if it hides me from 
thy frown.” 

Soon after his undemanding failed. His terrified 
imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or 
ever forgotten, and ere the fun (which I hope has 
feen few like him) arofe, the gay, young, noble, in¬ 
genuous, accompiifhed, and moll wretched Altamont 
expired.. 

If this is a man of pleafure, what is a man of pain ? 
How quick, how total, is the tranfit of thefe Phaeto- 
nitiades : in what a difinal gloom they fet forever ! 
How Ihort, alas l the day of their rejoicing i For a 
moment they glitter, they dazzle. In a moment, 
where are they ? Oblivion covers their memories. 
Ah l would it did 1 Infamy fnatches them from ob¬ 
livion. In the long-living annals of infamy their tri¬ 
umphs are recorded. 

Thy fuflferings hill bleed (poor Altamont!) in the 
bofom of the heart-ftricken friend : for Altamont 
had a friend. He mighthave had many. His Iran- 
fient morning might have been the dawn ©f an im¬ 
mortal day. His name might have been glorioufly 
enrolled in the records of eternity. His memory 
might have left a fweet fragrance behind it, grateful 
to the furviving friend, and falutary to the fucceeding 
generation; With what capacities was he endow¬ 
ed, with advantages for being greatly good ? But 
with the talents of an angel, a man may be a fool. If 
he judges amifs in the fupreme point, judging right¬ 
ly in all elfe but aggravates his folly ; as it thews him 
wrong, though blefled with the beft capacity for be¬ 
ing right. Heaven grant that the agonies of Altamont 
were an expiation of the pafl; not a prefage and 
fpecimen of the future. 

reflection. —Although modern infidelity has 
comparatively but few avowed followers, yet it has 
many more than we could wifh. It is an unhappy 
circumftance that any, in this enlightened day, fhould 
try to promote it; and it is ftiil more lamentable that 
falfe dodtriiies fhould be preached under the name 
of gofpelj which are calculated to juftify mankind in 





their vices, and thereby to encourage it. But it is 
hoped the abovementioned circumftances, with ma¬ 
ny others of the kind, will ferve to reftrain fome 
from embracing fo pernicious a fyftem, and to re¬ 
claim others who have already become its votaries. 


[The following is an account of a nobleman in Eng¬ 
land ; who had been an infidel, but in his iafl mo¬ 
ments became penitent. The circumftances are 
given in his own words.] 

TO MY DEAR FRIEND. 

B EFORE you fhall have received this, my final 
hate will be determined by the Judge of all 
the earth. In a few days, at molt, perhaps in a few 
hours, the inevitable fentence will be pah that fhall 
raife me to the heighths ofhappinefs, or fink me to the 
depths ofmifery. While you read thefe lines, I fhall 
be either groaning under the agonies of abfolute def- 
pair,.or triumphing in the fullnefs of glory. 

It is impohible for me to exprefs the prefent dif- 
pofition of my foul—the vah uncertainty with which 
I am itruggling ! No words can paint the force and 
vivacity of my apprehenfions. Every doubt wears 
the face of horror, and would perfedlly overwhelm 
me, but for fome faint hopes, which dart acrofs the 
tremendous gloom 1 What tongue can utter the an- 
guifii t>f a foul fufpended between the extremes of in¬ 
finite joy and eternal mifery ? I am throwing my lafl 
flake for. eternity, and tremble and fbadder for the 
important event. 

Good God I how have I employed myfelf 1 what 
enchantment hath held me? In what delirium has 
my life.been paft ? What have I been doing, while 
the fun in its race, and the flars in their courfes, have 
lent their beam, perhaps to light me to perdition ’ 

I never awakened till now. I have but juft com¬ 
menced the dignity of a rational being. Till this in¬ 
fant, I had a wrong apprehenflon of every thing in 



69 


nature. I have purfued fhadows, and entertained 
myfelf with dreams. I have been treafuring up dull 
and fporting myfelf with the wind. I look back on 
my paft life, and but for fome memorials of guilt and 
infamy, it is all a blank—a perfect vacancy i I might 
I have grazed with the beafts of the field, or fung with 
| the winged inhabitants of the woods, to much better 
purpofe, than any for which I have lived. And oh l 
but for fome faint hopes, a thoufand times more 
bleffed had I been, to haveflept with the clods of the 
; valley, and never beard the Almighty’s fiat, nor 
waked into life at his command l 

I never had a juft apprehenfion of the folemnity of 
I that part I am to a£i, till now. I have often met 
j death infultingly on the hoftile plain, and with a ftu- 
I picl boaft defied his terrors ; with a courage as brut¬ 
al as that of the warlike horfe, I have rufhed into the 
field of battle, laughing at the glittering fpear, and re¬ 
joiced at the found of the trumpet; nor had a thought 
of any ftate beyond the grave, nor the great tribunal 
to which I muft have been fummoned, 

“ Where all my secret guilt had been reveal’d, 

Nor the minutest circumstance couceard. 5 ’ 

It is this which arms death with all ita ter¬ 
rors ; elfe I could ftill mock at fear, and finite in 
the face of the gloomy monarch. It is not giv¬ 
ing up my breath ; it is not being forever in- 
t fenfible, that I fear ; it is the terrible hereafter, the 
I fomething beyond the grave,at which I recoil. Thofe 
great realities, which, in the hours of mirth and van- 
j ity, I have treated as phantoms, as the idle dreams 
! of fuperftitious beings ; thefe ftart forth, and dare 
j me now in their moft terrible demonftration. My 
awakened conscience feels fomething of that eternal 
vengeance I have often defied. 

* To what heights of madnefs is it pofiible for hu» 
man nature to reach? What extravagance is it to 
jeft with death 1 to laugh at damnation ! to fport with 
eternal chains, and recreate a joyial fancy with the 







fcenes of infernal mifery I Were there no impiety in 
this kind of mirth, it would be as ill-bred, as to en¬ 
tertain a dying friend with the fight of an harlequin, 
or the rehearfai of a farce. Every thing in nature 
items to reproach this levity in human creatures. 
The whole creation, man excepted, is ferious : 
man, who has the higheit reafon to be fo, while he 
has affairs of infinite confequence depending on this 
ihort uncertain duration. A condemned wretch 
may with as good a grace go dancing to his execu¬ 
tion, as the greateft part of mankind go on with fuch 
a thoughtlefs gaiety to their grave. 

Oh ! with what horror do I recall thofe hours of 
vanity which we have waited together ! Return, ye 
loft neglected moments l How Ihould I prize you 
above the eaftern treafures ! Let me dwell with her¬ 
mits ; let me reft on the cold earth ; let me converfe 
in cottages ; may I once more but ftand a can¬ 
didate for an immortal crown, and have mv Proba¬ 
tion for celeftial happinefs. 

Ye vain grandeurs of a court •' ve founding titles, 
and penihing riches s what do ye ftgnify, what con- 
iolation, what relief can ye give me ? I have a fplen- 
did paffage to the grave ; I die in ft ate, and languilh 
under a gilded canopy : I am expiring on foft and 
downy pillows, and am refpe&fully attended by my 
fervants and phyficians : my dependants figh, mv 
lifters weep, my father bends beneath a load of years 
and grief; my lovely wife, pale and fiJent, conceals 
her inward anguiih ; my friend, who was as my 
own foul, fupprefies his fighs, and leaves me to his 
fecret grief. But oh ! who of thefe will anfwer mv 
fummons at the high tribunal ? Who of them will 
bail me from the arreft of death ? Who will defeend 
into the dark prifon of the grave for me ? 

. Here they all leave me, after having paid a few 
idle ceremonies to the breathlefs clay, which per¬ 
haps may lie repofed in ftate, while my foul, my on¬ 
ly confcious part,, may ftand trembling before mv 
Judge, 


71 


My afflicted friends, it is very probable, with 
great folemnity, will lay the fenfelefs corpfe in a {late¬ 
ly monument, infcribed with, 

Here lies the great- - 

But could the pale carcafe fpeak, it would foon re- 

ply, 

False marble, where ? 

Nothing but poor and sordid dust lies here. 

While fome flattering panegyric is pronounced at 
my interment, 1 may perhaps be hearing my juft 
condemnation at a fuperior tribunal; where an un¬ 
erring verdict may fentence me to everlafting infa¬ 
my. But I call myfelf on the mercy of a divine 
Benefadlor, the Redeemer of loft mankind, hoping 
through his infinite merits to obtain falvation. 

Adieu, till we meet in the world of fpirits. ,, 

#*#####* 


DEATH OF iVNTITHEUS. 

[The following melancholy account is given us by 
the celebrated Mr. Cumberland.] 

A NTITHEUS, when in the height of his fame, 
was the hero of his party ; no man was fo ca- 
refled, followed and applauded : he was a little loofe, 
his friends would own, in his moral character, but 
then he was the honefteft fellow in the world; it was 
not to be denied that he was rather free in his notions, 
but then he was the beft creature living. Men of the 
graved characters would often wink at his fallies, 
becaufe they thought him fo pleafant and well bred, 
it was impoflible to be angry with him. He feem- 
ed to be at the fummit of human profperity, and eve¬ 
ry thing went well with him ; when he was fudden- 
ly feized with the mod alarming fymptoms : he was 
at his country houfe, and which had rarely happen- 








72 


eel to him, at that time alone. Wife or fantrly he 
had none, and out of the multitude of his friends, no 
one happened to be near him at the time of his at¬ 
tack. A neighboring phyfician was called out of 
bed in the dead of night to come to him in this ex¬ 
tremity. When he came, he found him fitting up in 
his bed, fupported by pillows, his countenance full 
of terror, his breath ftruggling as in the article of 
death, his pulfe intermitting, and at times beating 
with fuch rapidity that they could hardly be counted. 
Antitheus difmilfed the attendants he had about him, 
and eagerly demanded of the phyfician, if he thought 
him in < danger r . the phyfician anfwered, that he 
mult fairly tell him he was, in imminent clanger.— 
How fo ! do you think me dying ? He was forry to 
fay, the fymptoms indicated death.—Impeffible I 
you mull not let me die : I dare not die. O do6\or, 
fave me if you can.*—Your fituation, fir, is fuch, 
that it is not in mine, or any other man’s art, to fave 
you : and I think I fhoulcl not do my duty, if I gave 
you any falfe hopes in thefe moments, which, if I 
am not miftaken, will not more than fuflice, for any 
worldly or other concerns, which you may have on 
your mind to fettle.—My mind is full of horror, and j 
I am incapable of preparing it for death. He now 
fell into an agony, accompanied with a fhowerof 
tears ; a cordial was adminiftered and he revived in 


* In that dread moment, how the frantic soul 
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement; 

Runs to each avenue and shrieks for help, 

But shrieks in vain ! how wishfully she looks 
On all she’s leaving ; now, no longer hers ! 

A little longer, yet a little longer, 

O ! might she stay to wash away her stains, 

And fit her for her passage! mournful sight ! 

Her very eyes weep blood ; and every groan 
She heaves, is big with horror : but the foe, 

Bike a'staunch murderer, steady to his purpose.. 
Pursues her close through every lane of life, ■ . 

Nor misses once the track, but presses on ; 

Till forc’d at last to the tremendous verge, K . 
At once she sinks ! j Bfair. 


*1 




73 


; a degree ; when turning to the phyfician, who had 
his fingers upon his pulfe, he eagerly demanded of 
him if he did not fee the blood upon the feet curtain 
of his bed ? There was none to be feen ; the do61or 

allured him, it was only a vapor of his fancy_He 

anfwered, I fee it plainly in the fhape of a human 
hand : and then added, I have this evening been 
vifited with a tremendous apparition ! As I was ly¬ 
ing fleeplefs in my bed, I took up a letter of a de- 
ceafed friend, to diflipate certain thoughts which 
made me uneafy. I believed him to be a great phi- 
lofopher, and was converted to his opinions : per- 
fuaded by his arguments, and my own experience, 
that the diforderly affairs of this evil world could 
not be adminiftered by any wife, juft, and provident 
being, I had brought myfelf to think that no fuch be¬ 
ing could cxift ; that our exiftence was begun by 
chance, and would end in a complete annihilation. 
This had become my fyftem, and this was the rcaf- 
oning of that letter. I was revolving fuch thoughts 
in my mind, when the mournful apparition of my 
dear friend prefcnted itfelf before me; and unfolding 
the curtains of my bed, flood at my feet, lo®king 
earneftly on me for a confiderable fpace of time. 
My heart funk within me, for his face was ghaftly, 
full of horror, with an expreflion of fuch an anguifh 
as I can never dyferibe : his eyes were fixed on me, 
and at length with a mournful voice-he cried—Alas! 
alas ! we are in a fatal error 1 and taking hold of the 
curtains with his hand, fhook them violently and 
difappeared. This I both faw and heard; and look ! 
where the print of his hand is left in blood upon the 
curtains i 

Antitheus foon became delirious, and in a few 
hours expired in agonies. 

“O vain and inconftant world!—O fleeting and 
tranfient life 1 when will the foils of men learn to 
think of thee as they ought, and attend to their ey- 
' erlafting concerns ?” 

G 




n 


THE SECOND SPIRY. 

T HE aflfe£ling fentences which follow, are a part 
of the laft words of a miferable apoftate of ex¬ 
traordinary abilities, who* amidft his triumph in in¬ 
fidelity, was fuddenly feized with the moil violent 
pains of body and horrors of mind; and in his de¬ 
parting moments, uttered thefe exprefiions with ma¬ 
ny others which are not inferted. 

Ah me! he cries, what is this ? From whence 
this mercilefs attack ? What favage foe is this, who 
gives no truce, but fiercely prefles on ? Not death, I 
nope. No, death is but a jeft, the bugbear of en- 
ihufiaftic fools, who form their imaginary fcarecrow, 
and out of fear and apprehenfion, yield themfelves up 
to phrenzy—For me, I am refolved—But oh. my 
head, my head 1 Alas 1 what did I fay, that death is 
but a farce ? Ah • wretched me, I fear I am deceiv¬ 
ed. O miferable delufion ! what ghaftly fpe&re is 
that I fee, of horrid afpeft, advancing towards me 
with fulien pace, and by the noxious malignity of his 
eyes, lhooting the burning fever through my veins. 
Alas ! I feel him fixing his iron talons in my very 
heart.—O, flay thy hand, thou gloomy monarch. Pll 
ftipulate with thee : I will give thee all I have, yea 
all the world ; yea more : but ceafe thy •'hand, and 
grant me one minute’s eafe.-—No, no, it will not do ; 

he gives frefh wounds, and vows that I mu ft die_ 

To die l O more than terrible l And mull I die ? 
What then ? Where muft I go ? Where mu ft 
I dwell? Ye rattling thunders that rend the 
heavens from pole to pole; ye blazing light¬ 
nings that tear up the ponderous mountains from 
their folid bafes; colieft your forces, aim all 
your ftrength againft my guilty head, and thunder 
me into nothing. Hard hearted dements, will nei¬ 
ther of you obey me ? Muft I then be arraigned be¬ 
fore an injured, angry Judge ? I tremble at the 
thought. O how lhall I appear before that dreadful 
tribunal, where equity inflexible, and rigorous juf- 




75 


tice, wifi pafs tlic irreverfible fentence of my final 
doom ! a fentence unfupportably fevere, without the 
lead abatement. O fay, my foul, cannot thou find 
out fome fly device, and give eternity the flip, by 
Healing out. of exiflence. Think how thou wilt be 
able to fufiain the fhock of divine vengeance. Poor 
timid thing, no wonder that thou quivered at the 
thought; but O (hocking ! thou muft furvive it. 
omce then it muff be fo, where Ihall I turn to ? Is 
there no help, no hope ? O that 1 were freed either 
i °j*t being, or my nailery. Plow happy for me, 
had I forever lain afleep in the peaceable fhades of 
nothing : but ah I my wifhes are all in vain ; im¬ 
mortality is my curfe, and my fnifery muft be com- 
Bicnfurate with rny duration. Oh ! execrable wretch 
that I am 1 into what an abyfs of torment have I 
plunged myfelf by denying the Saviour of the world ? 
Hpw my heart Imitcs me at the remembrance of 
mine apofiacy 1 O my confcience, thou art alfobe- 
tume my cuciiiy . ^ kept thee in fufejedion, 

and iilenced all thy mutterings; out 7>ZZ T th : v re¬ 
proaches found like peals of thunder in my ears, and 
pierce the centre of my foul with bitternefs. 0 dial 
the omnipotent arm which diredls the thunder of tge 
fkies, would hurl a mountain upon me, entomb me 
among the flinty rocks, or ftrike me out of exiflence. 
But ah l that awful arm is ftretched out to fupport 
and punifh me. How long, O Lord, fhall thine an¬ 
ger burn agamfl me ? Will thine eternal juflice be 
forever upon me ? Alas ! I have excluded myfelf 
from thy mercy, by contemning the only way which 
thou had appointed for faving Tinners f I have both 
by words and ad ions denied thine only fon ; yea, I 
have done him more indignity than the ungrateful 
wretch who betrayed him: fo that thou art juft in 
all my afflidions. O that I were therefore in hell 
that I might feel the word : yet I fhudder at the* 
thoughts of death, becaufe the word will never, nev¬ 
er have an end. 

O ye my wretched companions in fin, how may { 




76 


curfe the fatal day when firft you taught me to deny 
the Saviour of the world. O phrenzy, more than 
defperate, for men againft: the voice of confcience and 
reafon to disbelieve a glaring truth. O, ye incen¬ 
diaries of hell, it is you, and your deteftable princi¬ 
ples who have brought me to this awful end, and 
now leave me in confufion and defpair. What com¬ 
fort have you now to offer me, what advice to fortify 
me againft the fearful expe&ations of another life ? 
Alas ! religion is not impofture, nor hell an enthufiaft- 
ic fiction : I feel with horror and amazement, that 
they are undoubted realities: and what egregious mad- 
nefs is it for you to contend with the Almighty, to 
abufe religion and deny its author ; and what is flill 
worfe, to apoftatize as I have done ! O be warned 
therefore, and leave off your fins ; perhaps God will 
have mercy on you. Bethink yourfeives, ye fons of 
folly, and confider how you can meet with the King 
of terrors—a formidable foe indeed. Alas, he preff- 
es hard and hurries me on to 
Of the eternal -Jd. I feel the dreadful prefages of 
everlafting burnings lighted up within me. My con¬ 
fcience pierces me with the pangs of bitternefs ; the 
preffures of divine wrath overwhelm me, and the 
certain profpc6f of eternity completes my wretched- 
nefs. O eternity! thou awful killing thought- Thou 
art the fum, completion, and extent of all my mife- 
ry. 1 fed myfelf upon thy very confines : f fink, I 
tall into thegulf of thy immenfity. Do not imagine that 
what I fay is the effed of melancholy or diflradion : 
Iwifh it were either ; but ah ! it is the terrible ap* 
proachof death that has brought me to my right mind. 
Oh l refrain thofe tears ; pity is no debt due to me. 
Nothing is fo proper for me, as fome curfe to com¬ 
plete my mifery, and free me from the terrors of ex¬ 
pectation. Away with your cordials from my lips ; 

! fhall foon receive a draught of another kind, even 
the cup of trembling. 

My foul l what do I fee ? Methinks I fee legions 
of flaming feraphims darting through yonder lumin- 



77 


ous cloud, and with ftupendous folemnity, ulhering 
the angry Judge into this lower world. Behold hi 
iimeio 118 retinue! See he approaches cnvelloped in 
awful glory and majefty fevere. His eyes like bla^ 

etfunfverfe Ind ?" e J lanc ? furve >' the wide extend-' 
tu univerie, and kindle ruin in their courfe How 

flalhls y of TO | a!eft,C! How dreadfull y terrible ! The 
nalhes of Ins countenance have already fet the. 

flamesTnlie ,1-* m 3 bi n Ze ’ a ' ld aIi created nature 
r TV? 1 umverfal conflagration ! O how dread- 

w hfi° lemn 1S . thls confumiug fcene! Convulfed 
fler an/ 7 agonies > the bowels of the fun burft afun- 

der and pour out magazines of fire ! The moon af 

mfkeshaftiT 6 !* 3 bi ?? c!5 ! hu , e ’ catchestheflame and" 
d,e ' , O what hideous crafhesi Fiery 

terror andhf 0 ™ their °. r , blt Mpreading flames and 
dnd burning worlds dafh upon each other 

air 1 'see ^hpt S of -^ re through the regions of the 
3 ow ? nng mountains recline their lofty 

ruts and lean from thf-ir hafoc u* r J 


mountains recline their lofn 
leap from their bafesto cfcape his fury, 
rhe flinty rocks, confcious of vengeance at hand 
diffolvemto a blaze, and melt away vvkh fear! Lo’ 
the^fpacious theatre of judgment! the throne of a re- 
fulgent cloud, whofe fuperb columns are fupported 
on . tb | wmgs of cherubims. The Judge ideated 
amidft the fhouts of furrounding angels, and flaminr 
thunderbolts oow oefore him ! See the great arch¬ 
angel railing the trumpet, founds the alarming fignal. 
The heavens ring with the awful din, and he f re 
verberates the dreadful echo ! How powerful the 

even e 'heli r renw h t ^ fea debver U P ‘heir dead, and 
^\en nell ruules to conceal its pnfoners OwW 

horrid forms j What horror and confufion ! Thun¬ 
ders roaring, lightnings flafhing, the heavens blaz- 
mg the earth trembling, cities flaming, mountains 

I Sr??5": s n ?' ^ WS,d 

Tell me, O tell me, where I am. Whither has 
ray awakened imagination carried me ? In a few mo 
ments I fliall realize what I juft thought I beheld! 6 

G 2 




when will my laft breath come, the laft pulie that 
lhall beat me out of this decayed manfion ? Oh i I 
find it is nigh at hand ; and what fhall I lay ? mult I 
go ? O the infufferable pangs of future wo ! O for 
one minute more to— 

Let us now furvey this unhappy creature juft on 
the borders of a future world. How Itriking the 
fight 1 affe£ting indeed : and Hill more fo by the 
tears of his furrounding friends. His aged father 
ftands by his fide overwhelmed with grief and for- 
row j and with all the affection and tendernefs of a 
parent bewails his departing offspring. O, fays he, 
how much was I afraid of this unhappy hour 1 Com¬ 
fort thy diftrelfed unhappy father, and tell me now if 
thou haft hopes of mercy. Hold up thy hand and 
make but a feeble fignal of thy hope. He dies and 
makes no fign. Ah 1 my fon, thou art gone, and 
whither fhall I fly for relief from my forrow ? "W ould 
to God I had died for thee. 


S UCH is the feene, and one fhort moment’s fpace, 
Concludes the hopes and tears of human race ; 
Proceed who dares ! I tremble as I write, 

The whole creation fvvims before my fight: 

I fee, I fee, Jehovah’s frpwning brow, 

Say not, ’tis diftant, I behold it now l 
I faint—my tardy blood forgets to flow, 

My foul recoils at the ftupendous wo ; 

That wo, thole pangs, which from a guilty breaft, 

In thefe, or words like thefe, lhall be expreft. 

Young. 




79 


ON TIIE ARRIVAL OF GENERAL GAGE, AND THE 
BATTLE AT LEXINGTON. 

S TUNG to the quick—-in robes of flame, 

And pomp of war, Brittania came, 

She blaz’d acrofs the flood ; 

Aloud her vengeful cannon roar’d ; 

Wrath whetted keen the two-edg’d fword, 

And foam’d for human blood. 

Patient of wrong, though injur’d, calm, 

Trimontaine ftretch’d the friendly palm, 

To bafe perfidious Gage : 

His brow the wreath of infult bore, 

Contempt and fcorn his afpe<5t wore. 

Commix’d with pride and rage. 

His punic word was never given, 

Unlefs to mock at earth or heaven ; 

A ray his foul prefer’d, 

From fome poor noble’s borrow’d beam, 

Or fmiles denoting court efteem, 

To virtue’s pure regard. 

Madly he wing’d the Britifh train, 

From Bofton’s camp, to Concord’s plain : 

The ruftic’s vocal horn, 

Strong as the clarion’s fhrill alarms, 

The jealous peafant call’d to arm's, 

And carnage rul’d the morn. 

At Lexington the fight began, 

The fwelling breaft of freeborn man 
Was rous’d at every wound : 

Indignant bofoms furious glow’d, 

The covert-wall, the open road, 

Fell flaughter pour’d around l 

Pale confirmation feiz’d on all, 

They faw their fathers, brothers fall, 

Their children join the dead l ' 



80 


^tnd tyrant power's vmdidtwe ftorm, 

A ow gathering round great Hancocks form, 
Or threading Adams’ head. 


I ouch d with the patriot’s deflin’d fate, 
i^ach private forrow’s trifling weight, 

In freedom’s fcale was loft : 

I he pulfe of honor ftrongly beat, 
i hey glow’d with patriotic heat, 

And curb’d th’ advancing hoft. 

In front and rear the country hung ; 
.from flank to flank loud vollies rung • 
And death’s deftroying gale, 

\/r 0n ? n ? ount . to Plain triumphant blew ; 
War’s fweepmg tempeft rapid flew ; 
Ana corfes pil’d the vale. 


Borne down by liberty’s ftrong hand. 

Old Piercywheel’d the fainting band ; 

His columns fought repofe • 

Not fuch their fate in former days. 
WhenMarib’ro', crown’d with viaYy’s rays, 
Defeated Anna s foes. y 


description of envy. 

A POIS’NOUS morfel in her teeth fhe chew’d 
nr>L ^ f.°, r e c | fieih of vipers for her food • 
The goddefs loathing turn’d away her eye ’ 
The hideous monfter, rifing heavily, ’ 

Lame ftaikmg forward with a fallen pace 
And left her mangled offals on the place ’ 

Soon as file faw the goddefs gav and bright 
She fetch d a groan at fuch acheerful fight •’ 

kfR. i an rn mea8 , re ,' vere her looks, her eve,’ 

A hnn glances turn’d awry : 

Tul?r d ° f i ga her inward Parts poflefs’d 

That fpread a grcennefs on her canker’d breaft 



81 


Her teeth wene brown with ruft, and from her tongi. 
In dangling drops the ftringy poifon hung. 

She never fmiles but when the wretched weep, 
Nor lulls her malice with a moment’s lleep i 
Reftlefs in fpite while watchful to deftroy, 

She pines and fickens at another’s joy : 

Foe to herfelf, diftrefling and diftrefs’d, 

She bears her own tormentor in her breait. 

Addison . 


THE SPRING. 

L O where the rofy-bofom’d hours, 

Fair Venus’ train appear ; 

Difclofe the long experienc’d flowers, 

And wake the purple year 1 
The attic warbler pours her throat, 
Refponfive to the cuckoo’s note. 

The untaught harmony of fpring; 
While whifpering pleafures as they fly, 
Cool zephyrs through the dufky fky, 

Their gather’d fragments fling. 

Where’er the oak’s thick branches ftretch 
A broader, browner fhade ; 

Where’er the rude and mofs-grown beach, 
O’er canopies the glade ;. 

Befide fome wat’ry rulhy brink, 

With me the mufe (hall fit and think ^ 
Hark, how, throughout the peopled air, 
The bufy murmur glows ; 

The infe£t youth are on the wing, 

Eager to tafte the honey fpring, 

And float amid the liquid noon : 

Some lightly o’er the current fkim, 

Some Ihevv their gaily gilded trim, 

Quick glancing to the fun, 






82 


To contemplation’s fober eye, 

Such is the race of man, 

And they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 

Alike the bufy and the gay, 

But flutter through life’s little day, 

In fortune’s varying colours dreft : 

Bru fil’d by the hand of rough mifchance, 

Or chill’d by age their airy dance, 

They leave in dull to reft. Gray . 


THE WORK OF CHRISTIANITY. 

£ I aken from the experience of Struenfee, Prime 
Minifter of Denmark.] 

HPHE more I learn chriftianity from fcripture, 

. ~~ &ys m ore I grow convinced, how un« 

jult the obje6\ions are vvith which it is charged. I 
* n ^ anc y ^ Voltaire fays concerning 
them oleranceof chnftians, and of blood-fheddinS 
cauled by chriftianity, is a very unjuft charge laid 
upon religion, it is eafy to be feen, that tholecruel¬ 
ties, laid to be caufed by religion, if properly confid-1 
ered were the produ&ions of human paftions, felf 
ilhnels and ambition, and that religion ferved in theft* 
cafes, only for a cloak. I am fully convinced of the I 
tru.h of religion in my own mind, in quieting my I 
conlcience, and reforming my fentiments. I have \ 
examined it.dunnga good ftate of health, and with 
aft the realon I am mafter of. I tried every argu-I 

! n t nt ’ 1 nc ? 1 ha T ve taken my own time, and i 
Pave not been m hafte. I own with joy, I find chrif f 
tiamty increafingly beautiful as I get acquainted with 1 

trori;^vlri VCri r ieW lt b , cf( ? re - J P nc ^ believed it con-^ 
traduced reafon ; and thoughtitanartfiilly contnv.il 
ed, ambiguous doPtune, full of incofnprchenfibili- 
tjes * V henever I thought on religion in my ferious 
moments, I had always,an idea in my own mind how 






it ought to be, which was, that it fhould be fimpjfe, 
and accommodated to men in every condition of 
life. I now find it to be exa£lly fo ; it anfwers en¬ 
tirely to the circumllances and wants of all who em¬ 
brace it. Had I but formerly known it was fuch, X 
Ihould not have neglected it till this time. But X 
had the misfortune to be prejudiced againit it, firft 
through my own paffions, and afterwards bjrthe fu- 
perftition which has been blended with it. X was ai¬ 
rways offended when God was reprefented as partial, 
angry and jealous, who delighted in the fuffering of 
his creatures. And 1 am convinced, that though he 
mufi punifh, yet he does not delight in it, but is wil¬ 
ling to pardon the truly penitent, 
riij Whenever I perufe the facred writings, I am 
pleafed with their harmony. The apofiles wrote 
extremely well, now and then inimitably beautiful, 
® and at the fame time, with fimplicity and clearnefs. 

The freethinkers extol the fables of AEfop, but the 
L parables and narrations of Chrift wiii not pleafe them 2 
nj notwithllanding they are derived from a greater 
tjj knowledge of nature, and contain more excellent 
] morality. Beiides, they are propofed with a more 
u noble and artlefs fimplicity, than any writings of the 

i kind, among ancient or modern authors,, 
f< 

ii -- 

CHARACTER OF A GOSPEL MINISTER. 

Ty^ITH eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd ; 
i V V Tho* harfh the precept, yet the preacher 
: charm’d, 

:: kor, letting down the golden chain from high, 

; He drew his audience upward to the Iky. 
bore his great commiiTion in his look, 

Vet fvveetly temper’d awe, and foften’d all he fpoke ; 

‘ prea^Ird th^ joys of heavei^ and pains of hell, 1 

And warn d the lipner with becoming zeal, jh 
But on eternarf^ercy lov’d io dwell. * 






84 


His preaching much, but more his practice 
wrought, 

A living fertnon of the truths he taught; 

For this, by rules fevere his life he fquar d. 

That all might fee the do&rine which they hear’d; 
For thefe, he laid, are patterns for the reft, 

The gold of heaven bears the God imprefs’d ; 

But when the precious coin is kept unclean, 

The fovereign’s image is no longer feen. 

If they be foul on whom the people truft, 

Weil may the baler brafs contraaa ruft ; 

Ever at hand was he without requeft, 

To ferve the sick, to fuccour the diftrefs’d: 
^Tempting on foot alone without affright, 

The dangers of a dark tempeftuous night. 

Such was the faint, who ^ with everv i?ra 
Refilling Moses-like his Makes s free ; 

God law his image lively was imprefsV!, 

And his new work, as in bleft. 

t Drydctu 









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